


Chasing The Sun

by indigomini



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 100 Days My Prince, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid Fusion, Angst, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2019-10-28 09:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17784779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigomini/pseuds/indigomini
Summary: Jongin is the youngest of seven, prince, and beloved by all in the queendom. The merman has everything he could possibly want, so what force on Earth could lure him from the sea?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [at1stsoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/at1stsoo/gifts).



> The seaweed is always greener  
> In somebody else's lake  
> You dream about going up there  
> But that is a big mistake  
> Just look at the world around you  
> Right here on the ocean floor  
> Such wonderful things surround you  
> What more is you lookin' for?

Legend has it that the landpeople were once of the sea. These short-lived, monochromatic savages that cover their bodies and burn their food and etch their knowledge into small, layered wooden blocks that disintegrate once it is brought to the very water they supposedly came from — these perplexing walkers — were once merpeople too, many lifetimes ago. It was said that long ago, a merman, on his inaugural pilgrimage above water, found something so captivating, so beautiful, that it was enough for him to forsake their world for the harshness of the surface. Whatever temptation laid there was so irresistible that the man pled and prayed to the gods to transform him so that he could possess it, never able to return, yet never once looking back at all he had lost. In some versions of the tale, what he saw was a path that wound up mountains so high, they could lead right to the home of the gods themselves. In others, he hoped that land granted him better reach and that being so much closer to the sun and moon, he could chase after and inevitably catch them, to somehow harness their powers for himself.

It was all madness, in any iteration.

For what the man lost was immense: a merman is immortal by nature, and on average, can gather three or more centuries on this blue planet with ease before meeting some unfortunate demise or other. It is said that the man had appealed to the moon god. The fool. To ask for legs from the trickster god, and not consider what price such a gift would demand. Walking on land without the mandate of both deities incurred the wrath of the sun, which is why it is nearly unheard of for any lander to reach even one century. The transformation, the resulting punishment, devastated his descendants so much that even a paltry fifty years is something notable. 

And all for what? Dirt? Their legs confine them to inconsequential spots of land atop a world full of water. Land that Jongin could circle within a spirited day, with only a few that are substantial enough that it may take months to trace the perimeter, but all islands nonetheless. Bound and limited patches of dirt.

It is, however, so fascinating to see the inventions that these surface dwellers create to compensate for their many shortcomings and adapt to their cursed predicament. They weave fibers into clothing, because on land, the air can grow even colder than ice, the sun harsh and cruel without the protection of the depths. Trees carved into boats to herd small schools of them along the surface, since they have lost the memory of how to move through the waters.  Jongin has seen the landpeople’s attempt at swimming; their awkward, short limbs alternating sluggishly to propel themselves, and only ever in the shallows. It is amusing to watch, until he is reminded of what dangerous creatures they are.

It is forbidden to interact with these humans. They are not like normal people, honoring the hard-earned peace agreements. His grandmother has told him stories of them hunting merpeople, even cannibalising them, poisoning and trapping them, and so many other horrific acts that have fueled some of his worst nightmares as a young child.

Still, they are his favorite stories. Out of the many stories that Jongin devours, the ones with walkers are his most treasured. Landpeople are just endlessly fascinating. They are clever and strange and funny to watch, like otters or the flightless birds to the south.

And soon, oh-so-soon, Jongin will finally be able to observe them up close.

—

Jongin is the youngest of the royal family’s seven children, and the only prince. This is a precise twist from the previous generation, with his mother being the eldest and only heir to the throne. His grandmother tells him that this reversal is a sign of great fortune, a balance from the gods. He never got to meet his six uncles, as most of them were married off to other regions to form vital alliances before he was born or still in infancy. He barely remembers his mother, in fact. It had been a tumultuous decade in the East Sea, the war between the rival clans claiming many lives, the queen included.

At the court’s direction, the widowed king-consort stepped down, and Jongin’s bereaved grandmother assumed the throne once more. She has yet to decide on a successor between his sisters, but Jongin is no doubt her favorite grandchild. She dotes on him regularly, and is always much more lenient with his youthful transgressions versus the princesses. The queendom is enjoying an era of peace and prosperity, which has allowed the royal family to behave much more like a proper  _ family _ , and Jongin has spent many childhood days begging for her to regale him with stories of ancient magic, of myths and lore. Queen-Regent she may be, but indulgent grandmother, she is also.

Being youngest meant that for years, Jongin had to watch anxiously as each of his sisters went to the surface world and pepper them with endless questions upon their return. They’d bring him precious souvenirs and fresh stories, marvelous and fascinating. It was through his incessant nagging that Jongin managed to accumulate a wealth of fragments and phrases from several of the lander languages, babbling them over and over to himself to practice until one of them (typically Yoona or Seulgi) would overhear and tease him; and he would sulk away, embarrassed, until they chased after him and bribed him with more knowledge of the strange landers. His sisters, too, spoiled him at every opportunity.

Jongin was fourteen when Hyoyeon returned from the surface, exasperating him with annoying promises and vague clues as to what treasure she could’ve possibly procured. He had nearly snapped and stormed away when she finally relented, revealing a bead the size of a salmon egg, as clear as the sea itself, the deep, rich color of kelp. It sat right in the center of the light swirl in her palm, perfectly displayed by her bioluminescence, yet it seemed to also glow from within, as if it possessed some light of its own. Jade.  _ Imperial jade _ , she called it, stroking the flawlessly polished surface as she turned it around in her hand. It had a thin, golden loop attached to it. The landers’ version of an earring. “It is only for queens and kings and princesses and princes,” she explained in her lilting, teasing cadence.

“It is so pretty,” Jongin said, awe transparent and heavy in his voice. His hands kept finding each other, pressing together to resist the urge to greedily snatch the earring away for himself. He can’t help the feeling. It was beautiful and he coveted it greatly.

_ “If only some poor widdle baby wasn’t afraid of getting his teeny bitty baby ears pierced…”  _ simpered Hyoyeon, her lips jutting out exaggeratedly with each syllable to mock him.

“I’m not afraid!” Jongin declared, for bone and pearl was one thing, but this, this was something else entirely.

He remembers how sore his earlobe was for days after, since Hyoyeon insisted with such misplaced confidence that she could do it herself. And he, the eager fool, desperately believed her and allowed it. He’d do it all over again too. Jongin runs the flat of his thumb against the underside of his earring as he recalls the memory. He’s never once begrudged her, despite the days-long pain after. This has to be one of his most favorite and prized possessions.

Minji snags a few strands of his blue-black hair in her fingers. He flinches, but Jongin manages to hold in the yelp as she continues to plait his hair. It wouldn’t do to seem childish. Today, he is no longer a child. Today is finally his turn to go up to the surface and explore.

“You should bring a guard,” Seolhyun repeats, crossing her arms and frowning with worry at him.

“None of you brought guards,” Jongin argues.

“You’re just a prince. You need a guard,” his sixth sister counters.

_ “I don’t want a guard,” _ he protests, well aware of the petulant whine in his voice, but his anxiety had pulled the words from him before he could choose which tone to filter them through.

“It’s not—” starts Seolhyun again.

“It’s his eighteenth birthday,” chides Minji, not even looking up as she finishes weaving Jongin’s hair into a single, tight braid. Her voice is resolute, and Jongin fights the impulse to sigh in relief that at least his oldest sister is siding with him on this. “He will be fine. He’s been obsessing over the surface since he was a baby. You know how to be safe, right, Nini?”

“Of course,” Jongin murmurs, adjusting his mouth afterward to retract the forming pout.

“Stay away from the shores at nighttime so they can’t see you,” Seolhyun starts up, only this time Minji nods along in agreeance.

“Agh, I  _ know _ ,” Jongin snaps, waving his hands around in front of his face as if to bat away the advice.

Minji takes his left hand in both of hers and spreads his fingers out, pointedly tracing over the warm web of light glowing from his veins. “You must be safe.”

“I know—”

“Being spotted by a landperson doesn’t mean you’re going to get scolded,” she continues, holding his hand tight. “It means they could try to kill you. They’re monsters, Jonginnie.”

He swallows, tamping down the urge to argue the issue further. “I know, I know,” Jongin says. “I’ll be careful.”

Minji smiles and pets over his hair fondly. “Okay then.”

“I promise.”

—

In other parts of the world, merpeople can take on dramatically different appearances. Some in the great open waters grow to three times Jongin’s size, the sleepy giants of the Pacific, for example. Their queendom has seen visitors from brackish waters in the icy north, where a fully grown man is the same length as a child. He remembers their large eyes and swift motions. And he remembers their multiple rows of razor sharp teeth as well. His grandmother was right to have respectfully decline that engagement offer. Sunmi would have flipped.

Jongin kicks faster as light starts to filter through the water around him. Within their own queendom, they are relatively uniform in size. They differed primarily in colors, with the Queen Regent and his late mother possessing the brightest cerulean scales, and the rest of the people in muted shades of blue. The King-Consort’s scales were a warm, mossy green, the prized shade from his clan, and so his progeny took on more turquoise tones as opposed to the royal blue. Except for Jongin. His father had tried to explain it to him, years ago. His paternal family’s ancient coloration was a flat yellow, particularly among the men, which was what made his father’s green hue remarkable. He suspects that is also why Jongin’s scales are the color of pure gold. His lower half shines like hundreds of glittering mirrors, scattering light around him as he gets closer to the surface. 

This is novel and exhilarating, moreso because his eyes are finally catching up and adjusting to the brightness. Jongin’s tail slashes through the water and propels him straight and true as the pressure begins to change. His chest expands and contracts slowly, the torso muscles unaccustomed to performing in this manner. He should have prepared days before, he reprimands himself, as he forces his way through another set.

Already, he is planning what he must do for next year’s trip upward, what he should pack. He mentally catalogues each new creature he sees as the waters get warmer. Jongin snares a snack-sized crimson fish from its school as he swims past, studying it for a brief moment as it thrashes in his tight grip before stuffing it into his mouth, cleanly severing it. Its flesh is sweeter than those found in the depths, although the thin bones are more difficult to properly crush. Inevitably, Jongin spits it out, abandoning the uneatened portion in annoyance as well. 

Taemin turned eighteen last year, and Jongin had managed to sneak right underneath the surface to see him off. Or that was the excuse, rather. He wanted to see too, and was too eager to wait for five more moons to come. It had been much warmer during that time. Taemin spoke of all sorts of mysteries, new wildlife and plants. Will he be able to spot them now, when the land is still so cool? Jongin keeps half-expecting for Yoona to appear and snatch his tail to yank him back down to their home, scolding him all the while for causing his sisters to worry. But he is eighteen now. He is a man now. This is his rite of passage. 

The surface breaks, and for a moment, his vision goes white. Jongin blinks repeatedly, shields his eyes, tosses his braid behind him, and takes a deep inhale. He can feel the air sucking into his chest — his virgin  _ lungs _ — and he winces in pain. The feeling is wholly unfamiliar, but it is a dull, low ache, and with a few more breaths, it slowly subsides.

It is a clear day. Not a single cloud to be seen. The sun shines down upon him, and the sensation of its warmth on his skin, as the water drips off and evaporates, tingles, but is pleasant. He blinks again. His eyes burn if he doesn’t blink regularly, which he had heard of, but it’s annoying to experience firsthand. The colors are so vivid in a way wholly different from how they are deep underneath the surface. Here, they make his head ache if he stares for too long. His right hand comes up to feel over his neck. It is smoothed over, his gills having sealed up to prevent damage above water. It feels weird, to not sense water rushing through him. It feels weirder, adjusting to how shallow his breaths want to be, versus how much more air his lungs feel capable of taking in. But he listens to his body, willing it to learn.

Jongin blinks again and finally begins to look around. The surface glitters with the sun’s reflection. No lander in sight. No  _ land _ in sight, but Jongin suppresses the immediate disappointment and focuses on the waves, how they break, the direction of the sea foam that gets churned up. He had studied this area, had selected it deliberately. He turns so he can face his target. Eventually, he realizes that he doesn’t even notice the discomfort of breathing, of blinking, and Jongin smiles, proud of himself that his body has adjusted enough.

Soon enough, he sets off, tucking his arms to his sides and kicking his tail up and down to cut through the water. He leaps, high enough to flip completely, feeling his body surrounded by nothing but the sky, momentarily weightless, and landing as he barks a laugh into the salty air. It’s exhilarating. He does it over and over, alternating the ways his body can turn and twist, miscalculating a few times and landing face first back into the water. The embarrassment is fleeting, for there is no one around to judge him. It is so freeing. He is exalted and alive. This is everything he’s ever dreamed of so far. 

Jongin gasps as he approaches the object, nearly gurgling in delight to himself as he decides that it  _ must _ be a ship. It is way larger than what he had imagined. This must carry such a massive school of landers. It is nearly the size of a whale.

He  _ must _ get a better look at it.  _ Must touch the boat. _

The wooden structure towers over him. It is monstrous, swaying along as waves lick at its sides. When his sisters and friends told him of this lander invention, Jongin had pictured it to be a fraction of this size, just enough for a few landers to stack in right against each other. This was the height of a kelp forest. Possibly the breadth of one as well. By the time he is close enough to it, the upper part blocks out the sky above him. It’s terrifying, but his curiosity drives him forward nonetheless.

His hand reaches out, and then Jongin darts underwater as he hears someone shout from above. His heart wants to beat out of his chest from the shock, but Jongin scans the waters and sees no other humans. He swims up against the boat again, resting his left palm against it. It’s firm, with no give, but it feels…  _ softer _ in some way. Not like stone or coral, or even like the lander weapons once they’ve sunken to the deep. He presses his right hand against it as well, walking one hand in front of the other, toward the surface once more.

It is so odd, seeing water drip off his hands and down the side of the ship. Jongin marvels at the physics of it, splashing more water up the wood and watching as it sheets down.

He freezes as voices yell from overhead, back and forth to each other on the large ship. Surely, they can’t hear him from here. How well do landers’ ears work? His hearing is so different above water, his senses in general are all reacting so differently.

Impulsively, Jongin flips and circles underneath the ship, slowing as he rises to the surface on the other side. He finds a lander structure, one that the people can walk on, above the water. There are  _ dozens _ of landers. After studying them for a bit, Jongin steels himself, and wades closer, opting to hide underneath the bridge where the largest concentration of people are hauling things into the ship.

They are chattering animatedly. Some of the sounds register meaning, and Jongin struggles with parsing and matching the noises with the correct lander language for a long while before he identifies one that makes the most sense. Thankfully, this is one that he's more familiar with. His father taught him a lot of their language to accompany the lander stories when he was younger. It takes a while for it to come back. These people speak it much quicker, and the sound gets blurred and muffled on its way to his ears through the damp, wooden planks.

“The prince needs  _ all  _ of these things?” says one of the landers.

A prince! A prince like him! Jongin’s excitement has his entire body buzzing, and he nearly shoots out of the water to shake the man down, demanding they show him his counterpart. But he refrains, deciding prudently that if they’re speaking  _ of _ the prince, it must mean that he was not within their present company.

Another one speaks, “It’s for his birthday celebration. Are  _ you _ going to tell him you think it’s excessive?”

Jongin claps his hands over his mouth, flinching as it makes a splash after. Some time passes, and the men continue to speak overhead. They didn’t notice. But  _ birthday _ . His very first trip to the surface for his birthday, and he encounters a prince on his own birthday journey as well! He  _ must _ meet this lander —  _ see  _ — he must  _ see _ this lander prince.

There is some commotion overhead, and then he can make out the men forming up against the sides of the pier in a hurry. They chant as one, “ _ We welcome you, Crown Prince! _ ”

What is a  _ crown  _ prince, Jongin ponders, lifting up to press his face as closely as he can between the wooden slats to see.

Footsteps approach. Jongin strains to make out the shapes. They come as a herd, vibrating the wooden stage and unsettling dust. It burns Jongin’s sinuses, his eyes, and he panics as he drops back under the water, expelling bubbles and swiping over his eyelids to clear the material away. By the time he’s back, tears still clouding his vision, the procession is over. The crown prince has boarded the ship, and the people above are announcing their departure.

That is so unfair. Jongin frowns to himself, petulantly kicking at the water and stirring up sand. He dives down and under, back to shadowed side of the ship, slapping together a haphazard plan along the way. There will be plenty of time to explore the shoreline later. Or if not, there is always next year. Imagine his luck, getting to see a ship take off instead of one already in motion or none at all. And then there is the opportunity to study a royal of one of the surface nations. One of equal rank to him, even. He couldn’t pass this up.

He  _ will  _ see this lander prince.

—

Jongin’s lower body, like the rest of his people’s, is nearly twice the length of his upper. His caudal fins have a spread of nearly as wide as he is long.  This is advantageous for making powerful kicks to propel him through the water, allowing him to deftly catch prey (which is rare), or to flee from an adversary (which is rarer, unless one counted irate older sisters as adversaries). And every scale a mirror-like, perfectly smooth golden plate.

He must look pathetic, if there were anyone around to look right now as he flops and scrambles to scale up the side of the ship. He  _ feels _ pathetic. And helpless. His tail is dead weight to carry. Useless outside of the water. His face drags against the rough wood as he slips a short distance on the slick surface, and he wants to cry out at this mistreatment. Jongin is tenacious, but this is absurdly unreasonable. The claws of his fingers are so sore, but still he holds tight. He’s almost to the top. He can’t give up. 

His arm muscles are past the point of burning. They are numb and shaky now, where they don’t even feel like they belong to him any longer, but it doesn’t matter. He’s made it. Pride swells his chest concurrent with the heavy panting for fresh air. It was a wise choice to climb up the back of the ship. His scales glitter like golden mirrors in daylight, but here, there is plenty of shade. He’s found the perfect vantage point, where some taller crates are stacked, none of which seem to interest the crew. It allows him to practically climb onto the ship, to recuperate his strength, and to escape quickly if necessary.

He’s also finally found the prince.

There is a mildly bitter taste of disappointment in his mouth. Jongin had expected to see…  _ something extraordinary _ , he supposed. Maybe some being with magnificent horns or wings or something apart from the other landers. But the prince is just another boy. Lander skinned. Lander sized. His hair must be long like Jongin’s, but in place of a braid, he’s twisted it up into a silly knot on the top of his head, complete with a band and some kind of stick. Jongin thinks it looks goofy, but it’s how most of the other men aboard the ship style their hair as well. His clothing is brighter than the others, and the color reminds Jongin of his grandmother’s scales, the same deep, rich blue. It is pretty, and he is pretty, but he is still just a boy. A boring one, too. After a few minutes of observing him being very boring and drinking some undoubtedly very boring drink, Jongin’s attention trails off toward the rest of the people on the ship, playing guessing games with himself as to purpose their alien actions are doing.

Jongin sighs and stretches his tail out lazily. He’s pulled himself entirely onto the deck not too long ago, folding his arms together to form a rest for his chin as he observes everyone from the gaps under the crates. This is vastly more comfortable. He doesn’t like ships. He has no idea how the landpeople endure it. Being bounced along the surface of active waters is torturous. Some of the people have even fallen sick, emptying the contents of their stomachs into buckets, or more frequently, over the sides. Yuck. 

His eyes wander back to the prince on occasion, especially when his current study comes up to interact with him, often in the form of prostrating themselves and declaring things in a loud and monotonous fashion. Lander ceremony is an odd thing.

The prince looks very intimidating. His big, dark brows furrow whenever someone asks him a question, and he answers in a low, deep voice that leaves Jongin concerned for the safety of its recipient. But after several observed conversations, Jongin concludes that perhaps the prince isn’t actually  _ trying _ to be intimidating. Maybe that’s just his face. He recalls his infrequent times at court, seeing different people bring their cases before his grandmother. Some present themselves as meek, others as something deserving of special treatment. Those are by design. But there was the time Yoona asked him afterward what issue he took with one of the plaintiffs to glare at him in such an upset manner, which left Jongin so bewildered. He wasn’t even paying attention. He was just hungry.

Perhaps that’s what is happening here. Perhaps this prince is just hungry. If he looked beyond the prince’s aggressive features to see the underlying expressions, they were actually quite neutral.

It is almost nighttime when he finally learns the prince’s name. Kyungsoo.  _ Prince Kyungsoo _ , Jongin mouths silently, after one of the servants scolds another regarding the prince’s sleeping arrangements. He searches the deck for the other prince, but Kyungsoo is nowhere in sight. It gets boring very quickly, observing from the shadows. His skin is starting to light up as well, the golden glow of his veins and arteries radiating a faint warmth against the rough crate. He should probably get going soon. Jongin purses his lips, wondering to himself if he should really try to climb his way back down, or if it’s better to just dive head first and hope for deep waters.

He is halfway out of the small cut-out and ready to drop when some voices cry out to greet the prince once more. Jongin pauses, hand gripping the frame, and glances back over his shoulder, deliberating. Should he stay and spy on this land prince some more, or should he go find some much needed food already?

Someone else decides for him. A man shouts something incoherent, and then something  _ explodes _ , whistling from the ship high into the air. Jongin collapses backwards, eyes wide in horror as he tracks the ball of light careening through the sky. He claps his hands tightly over his mouth as an instance later, the ball bursts into dozens more points of light, a loud boom changing the pressure in his ears. The lights drop, but fade after a short distance, crackling as they leave.

More high pitched whistles come from within the ship deck. More explosions overhead. Through his terror, Jongin hears…  _ laughing _ . And applause. He recoils, shuffling across the floor back to his crate, peering through it and flinching each time another one of those fireballs go off.

Everyone’s eyes are turned to the light show in the night sky, all fearless to the display. The prince’s as well. He’s much closer now, giving Jongin a prime view of his face. He is clapping along as each ball explodes into smaller points, his eyes narrowing into tiny crescents, his mouth curving up in sheer delight. Here, he looks much more like a boy than some cold, grumpy thing. Jongin can see his teeth, small and straight and blunt. So harmless. The lights catch on the balls of his cheeks as he laughs. The bursts reflect against his bright, wide eyes.

Jongin’s own eyes begin to burn, and he realizes that he’s been staring this entire time. It takes several blinks to wet his eyes back to an acceptable level, and then he eagerly returns to staring some more. He is too fascinated, seeing the prince change so much in such a short time.

“My apologies. Your nineteenth birthday was two days ago, my prince,” a man intones, bowing so sharply at the waist that Jongin is afraid he might snap cleanly in two. “I regret deeply that we were unable to celebrate with the fireworks then.”

“It was raining,” the prince dismisses with a wave, still in a good mood from the fireworks. His voice sounds so much clearer from here as well. It’s softer, too. Mellowed slightly upward, with a sweeter note. Maybe the man speaking to him is a friend. Either way, he is much more pleasant to listen to in this manner. “It’s better now, anyway. Proper celebrations at the palace out of the way. I don’t have to entertain anyone I don’t want to.”

“Do you ever want to entertain  _ anybody _ ?” the other man quips.

Kyungsoo’s brows hitch upward while the rest of his face remains stoic. It says, ‘ _ I know you think you’re being clever, but I am not amused.’ _ Jongin knows this look. He makes it very often, when one of his sisters try to tease him about something or other. They give him the same face in return, whenever he thinks of a funny twist of words and attempts to repeatedly regale them. It’s not a look one gives a stranger or even a casual acquaintance, definitely. It’s fond and intimate. How intriguing, seeing this on landpeople’s faces. It makes them seem much more human than grandmother’s stories. In those tales, they were just beings who make poor life choices and reap the consequences in either hilarious or disastrous ways. Here, on the crown prince’s face… it’s quite cute. Adorable, in fact.

What is the inside joke, he wonders. Is it that the prince doesn't like entertaining guests? Or that he typically suffers through doing it dutifully, or that he's very particular with his company, and so only does it too infrequently for the other man's tastes? Not knowing the specifics leaves Jongin feeling too annoyed.

He has to scramble, as a few things happen all at once. Someone orders a group of men to clear the crates Jongin is hiding behind at the same time the prince informs the other man that he is ready to retire for the night. Jongin's sore arms are put back to work as he clings to the side of the ship, narrowly avoiding the crew as he tries to follow along the prince's path. It's one level down, with just enough of a ledge on the window for Jongin to perch, if he's careful. 

Unfortunately, he can only hear, not see what goes on inside. This is also not a good position. He's way too bright to be hiding here. Anyone looking overboard would see him. And he's starving, having heeded the advice of his friends and sisters to not eat before heading to the surface, and then getting too carried away by the ship the entire day. His stomach growls at him, and Jongin rubs circles over his hollow belly. He presses an ear against the board, hoping to hear something novel, but there is only silence on the other side. Fine. He will return later.

—

For years, Jongin had dreamt of when he was finally old enough to come to the surface. He pictured months of studying the landers, following their voyages and bringing back so many new stories. People had said three days was the absolute limit for the first surface trip. Jongin had scoffed at the thought of such little time spent, had assumed they all lacked curiosity or motivation, or that their fear outweighed it all.

It is the dawn of the third day, and Jongin is sullen, but growing humble in defeat. Almost three full days of breathing air for the first time, combined with constantly hauling his long body up a massive ship makes his chest feel like it’s perpetually on fire. Having to catch his own food while spending most of his time climbing up a large ship has him experiencing all kinds of new discomforts. His lips are cracked, bleeding. He is sore all over. Absolutely exhausted. And itchy. Possibly burnt. The surface air is not kind to his skin or scales.

There isn't much left to see anyway, which provides some level of consolation. The ship has already turned around and is headed back to port. It has been a fruitful and entertaining three days. Stealthiness was not a skill he knew he possessed, but Jongin was able to hone it often enough aboard the ship. He saw dancers and fireworks and swordsmen on his first trip to the surface. He saw the instruments the landers invented that produced the most delightful music.

Most incredibly, he got to hear the crown prince  _ sing _ .

It happened the second night, right before Jongin grew bored and was ready to leave again to search for food. The prince was alone in his quarters. It started as a low humming, before some notes would blur their way into a few quiet words. The song was light and dainty, something one would sing to children to lead them off toward sweet dreams, but in the prince's husky voice, took on a more somber, melancholic tone. It made Jongin's chest ache, and yet instead of wanting to shield himself and turn away, he yearned to reach out, to console Prince Kyungsoo, or to at least see, ask,  _ know _ what story led to such sorrow. 

Maybe the hunger exacerbated it. Maybe on a fuller stomach, Jongin wouldn't have felt so enraptured. But the prince's voice was so beautiful as he sang; so rich and true, it felt powerful enough to lure any man or woman right out of the sea.

He is mesmerized.

But he is also smarting from all of the surface’s novelties. It won’t matter how determined Jongin is. By tomorrow, he will be unable to scale back up the ship. That leaves him with either staying onboard and risk getting caught, or watching from the waters where he won’t be able to see anything either way. It would be more sagacious to to return home, to recover, and sneak back once he is at full strength.

Besides, Prince Kyungsoo is no longer singing. That was a special moment, it seems, and the moment has passed.

Fairly certain that no one is coming, Jongin pulls himself into the prince’s empty room, crawling on elbows to reach the short table. These humans do all kinds of strange things to their foods. Kyungsoo’s meals are comprised of dozens of small, bright plates, too many for the prince to finish on his own. Jongin has been snacking on his leftovers, dignity suspended in favor of exploration. Yesterday, he tasted some odd vegetables that were equally spicy and sour, followed by a meat of some kind, flattened and dried out, coated in an oil, and weighed too heavily in his belly afterward. And cookies! Dainty, powdery cookies that Kyungsoo had lamented aloud at being unable to finish by the time he was done with his meal. Jongin enjoyed those the most, and has been salivating over the ones for today while he spied on the other prince eating. There was still one remaining.

He wishes he could summon the eunuch to explain what each dish is, like Kyungsoo did with a few of them. He still has no idea what a eunuch is, but Jongin gathers it must mean friend or servant or something to that nature. Eunuch Baekhyun, the same one who had sassed the prince the first night, has been at Kyungsoo’s side for nearly the entire trip, and appears in an instant when called, ready and eager to aid. That had made it very difficult for Jongin to observe. Annoying (and  _ loud _ ) as the man was, though, Jongin really would have appreciated a guide on this culinary journey. Or baring that, someone to warn him on the more extreme dishes, at least.

It sure would be nice to be able to have food prepared like this back home. The landers eat a lot of similar ingredients here, but cooking is an art that Jongin doesn’t think his people can yet master in such a different climate. Still. It would be nice.

There are fruits today. Acidic, but sweet, bursting in Jongin’s mouth at the lightest pressure. He jumps with each bite, but it's delightful. So many choices before him, Jongin sniffs his way through the leftovers, and has just reached for the cookie when he hears thundering footsteps. A soft whine leaves his mouth and he hurriedly jams the treat into his mouth as he races for the window. It’s still as tasty as the ones from yesterday, but he doesn’t get to savor it as well.

His chest feels so raw. Jongin's pride keeps him on the ship for several more hours, until the sun has crossed the sky and began its descent. He should start back home, but a part of him wants to see the stars come out again. He had spent hours last night connecting imaginary lines between them, humming what he could remember of Kyungsoo's lullaby.

Heavy clouds fill the air enough to blot out the sun. It doesn't seem like he will get the opportunity tonight. Jongin drops smoothly from the ship, eyes fluttering shut as the water engulfs him. What sweet relief. Bittersweet. It’ll be better when he gets home, but he still regrets having to leave. There was so much more to explore.

Warm drops land on him, and Jongin blinks the water off of his lashes as he turns his gaze upward. This must be rain. He sticks his tongue out, tasting it and opening his mouth wide to collect more of the fresh water. In some higher parts of the queendom, you could feel the change in the water from heavy rains. The surface of the ocean glitters, turns to static, as the rain pelts down faster. It’s grown cold in a matter of minutes, and the water now starts to irritate his sensitive skin. Jongin recedes until his shoulders are covered, pouting back up at the darkening sky. Experiencing rain is nice, but—

The heavens light up as a bright flash of light zigzags down. A moment later, a deafening boom leaves him briefly stunned. The wind has picked up, to where it’s difficult to even stay above water. Jongin sucks in one last, deep breath, and sinks under.

He is swimming backward, allowing the weight of his body to pull him down as he stares up at what light remains, forming abstract shapes and designs through the water. He breathes out slowly, the bubbles tickling as they escape his nose and float up and up. It hurts, pushing and forcing every last bit of the surface out. He can’t keep any of it down here. His chest compresses for the last time before filling back to its normal position as water floods his gills. It’s cold. So cold.

The currents are growing wilder, enough to thrash Jongin about and force him to actively propel himself.

Darkness surrounds him. He didn’t realize he had dropped that deep already, or perhaps due to the rain, the sky is now as dark as the sea.

It is so quiet. No fish, no creatures nearby, having all fled to safety.

Next year, he must bring a carrier of some kind to transport things back. He didn’t even get his family any gifts. Surely, his sisters will be upset. There’s no way he could scale up the ship right now though. The rain-slicked surface would make it impossible.

Jongin finds himself kicking back up to the surface anyway, moaning softly as his chest prepares for reentry.

He gets a face full of water once he breaks through and sputters, wiping at his eyes. Jongin gets whipped around and scrambles to stay upright. Somehow, the rain had grown even more powerful. It’s hard to see anything. The ship is nowhere in sight. The dark sky is useless for bearings.

Lightning shoots down from the heavens, and Jongin sees something along the horizon that sends a chill down his spine.

He’s found the ship.

The ship is engulfed in flames. He is racing toward it as fast as he can, curling into himself as he hears the thunder explode through the air, a thousand times louder than the fireworks of the first day. Then, another crackle. This time, wood. The ship is breaking.

It takes ages to reach. Jongin was already exhausted before the rain, and the waves are tossing him back and forth like driftwood. By the time he is near enough, the ship has already began to sink. There are people shouting. His body is starting to glow. He will most definitely be spotted if he tries to intervene. And if he does so anyway, what could he even do for them?

Some of them have boarded on tiny boats that get tossed about in the water as easily as he was. There are so few of them.

It slowly dawns on him that there are no bright blue robes among the survivors that he can see. And that the words they are shouting,  _ Crown Prince! Crown Prince! _

He doesn’t flinch the next time lightning strikes.

Jongin barrels toward the wreckage. Can the prince even swim? That seems like an obvious skill to have mastered before one ventured into water. And what of Eunuch Baekhyun? Surely he could at least, in order to protect the prince. Could they have found a different boat?

He chokes, eyes burning, and cries out as the smoke greets him the next time he surfaces. It’s too hot. Jongin backs away, a sniveling sound vibrating in the back of his throat as he scans the area for life.

Nothing.

Repeated dives turn up fruitless. He is at least grateful he hasn’t seen any deceased. At least that meant the crew could definitely swim, although with the storm raging, he’s not sure how capable they must be.

The prince must have gotten to safety.

But they are still calling for him. The thunder drowns them out, but Jongin can make out at least that. The crown prince is still missing.

The next flash of light, Jongin feels like his heart must have stopped. He must have moved even faster than lightning, gripping the limp body tightly as the waves throw them around. He rolls it over.

_ Kyungsoo _ .

The prince is motionless. Expressionless. Eyes closed, lips parted. Mindless to water spraying over his face. Jongin’s heart surely stopped a second time before plummeting to his stomach. Kyungsoo’s lips are as blue as his clothing. Jongin lifts him up, pressing an ear against the lander’s chest.

It beats. Weakly.

Jongin looks up and has no idea where he is. He can’t see any of the small boats now, nor any of the crew. The world swirls around them. The storm roars overhead. In his arms, the lander prince stays completely silent.

He isn’t breathing.

Jongin has never felt so helpless. It is difficult enough keeping both of them afloat. He shakes the prince’s lifeless body and beats against his waterlogged chest to no avail. Is this not what they are supposed to be good at? It’s breathing! It should be simple enough.

Jongin’s eyes sting with tears, frustration and despair mingling as he continues to throttle the unconscious prince. This is his first trip to the surface. How dare this lander prince ruin it! It’s just breathing. Jongin’s managed to do it for the past three days. Kyungsoo has been practicing his entire life.

He cries out and fills his lungs to their full capacity, defiant against the pain of doing so.  _ It’s not hard! Do it! _

Jongin grips one side of the man’s head and wrenches Kyungsoo’s jaw open with his other hand before leaning forward, covering the prince’s mouth with his own, and pushing all the air from his lungs into Kyungsoo’s. He can feel it as it transfers, causing the prince’s chest to inflate against Jongin’s forearm. It deflates in half the time, and Kyungsoo stays inert. But he had breathed, did he not?

Jongin repeats it, willing the other prince to show some sign of life. His mind is a mess, but at least every time he exhales, it feels as if Kyungsoo is breathing. He has no idea how to tend to landers. The irrational part of his brain is telling him to just bring Kyungsoo to his grandmother. Surely, she will know how to help him. But the last bit of sanity he has is saying that way guarantees the crown prince’s death. He is helpless, weak, and hurting. He's so lightheaded, he's not sure he won't faint also. But with no other solution, he can at least comfort himself with the delusion of productivity in continuing to fill Kyungsoo’s chest.

A gurgle.

He must have imagined it. The storm is still raging.

Water pours from Kyungsoo’s mouth before Jongin can make another attempt. The prince makes a deep gagging sound and another gurgle before he coughs.

Jongin forgets to breathe. He doesn’t even realize it as his lungs burn, as his brain screams for new oxygen. Until the other prince coughs some more, spitting up more water, and finally, finally opens his eyes.

Those eyes stare straight at Jongin, growing even wider despite the rain battering their faces. Only when Kyungsoo absolutely must cough up more water do they squeeze shut before forcing back open again.

In those eyes, Jongin sees the night sky with its countless stars. He could almost trace the lines again.

A wave hits them, bringing him out of his trance. Kyungsoo is still awake, still staring. Jongin kicks hard, lurching them high up and spots some definition on the otherwise empty horizon. He pulls the other prince close, arms encasing him safely, and steels himself as he kicks toward land. It is difficult having to keep their heads above water, having to constantly adjust his trajectory with each new lightning strike, but he doesn’t feel Kyungsoo could handle anything more right now.

The other prince offers no resistance. At times, Jongin suspects he must have slipped into unconsciousness again, but whenever he checks, Kyungsoo's eyes stare back at his, conveying nothing. What must Jongin look like to him, he wonders. Does he see a monster? A beast of light and gold? Or could he see a prince too?

“Kyungsoo,” Jongin asks, unnerved by his gaze, “are you alright?”

The prince's mouth drops even wider. Waves roll over them, and Kyungsoo sputters, coughing out the water and wisely shutting his mouth.

High on adrenaline, Jongin presses on. He needs to get them to the shore, and Kyungsoo is breathing, isn’t screaming and attacking him, and that is all that matters for now. His body burns despite the chill, but it is not intense enough for him to succumb, so still he swims.

The shore grows nearer, and Jongin sobs in relief as he forces his muscles to continue for the remaining distance. Gripping Kyungsoo tight against him in one arm, he pulls them both across the sand with the other. The water keeps lapping up to them, and Jongin keeps crawling, ignoring the black specks in his vision, praying for the fatigue to wait a little longer.

Eventually, he collapses. The sand is wet, but it’s from the rain, not the ocean. He releases Kyungsoo, dropping beside him to try and calm his heart. The other prince is unconscious, and Jongin panics once more, only to realize Kyungsoo is still breathing.

Maybe Jongin slipped out of consciousness a few times himself because soon, the sun is rising, its glow spreading and reflecting across the water. His body feels like it’s turned to stone, not wanting to respond, and when it does, leaves him groaning in pain.

Kyungsoo is still out. His heartbeat is much stronger now, his breathing even, his lips back to their original red. He is just sleeping.

Up close, in the warm morning glow, the prince looks so much younger. Merely another boy. His skin is soft and smooth under Jongin’s finger as he traces Kyungsoo’s cheekbone, gently dipping into a small scar by his nose and tapping over the tiny, darkish dots sprinkled over his face. There is one on the curve of his upper lip. Another by the inside of his left eye. So many.

The prince stirs, a sleepy pout forming as his brows furrow together. It’s precious, and an indulgent part of him grows excited anticipating seeing Kyungsoo’s bright, wide eyes open again.

A shout somewhere beyond the beach has Jongin bolting upright. They’re bathed in sunlight here. Jongin pushes against the prince’s chest again, and tucking his ear right under Kyungsoo’s nose, reassuring himself that the soon-to-be-waking prince is still indeed alive, and then turns away, shuffling his spent body across the sand and hitting the water just as he hears another shout.

The trip back is slow. Mostly, Jongin just lets his mind drift off, and lets his body sink, only moving to adjust direction when necessary. He falls deeper and deeper, and thinks about Kyungsoo.

Did he save another prince last night? It doesn’t feel like he did a right thing.

The descent leaves him feeling more hollow as it drags on.

“ _ There _ he is!” someone exclaims, and shortly after, a hand circles his waist as Seulgi pulls him close for a hug. “Four whole days! What a big boy.”

Something clenches in his chest as Jongin’s eyes focus on his fifth sister. Seeing her brings relief, elsewhere in his brain. She is familiar and normal and vibrant, and he has nothing to hide or fear from her, especially his very presence.

“Ohh,” Seulgi continues in her light, teasing tone, “you must’ve spent the entire time in the sun. You’re going to peel so badly, you dumb dumb!”

His eyes sting, and Jongin blinks repeatedly, trying to clear the irritation. The protective jelly coating had returned to his eyes once his lungs have compacted. It is the first time he’s blinked since coming back into the water, but however many times he tries, the stinging doesn’t go away. His chest continues to squeeze even tighter, and he gasps suddenly, a hand covering his grimace as another gasp emerges.

The smile slips from Seulgi’s face, and she stops them, shaking Jongin by the shoulders. She’s saying his name, but it echoes, sounding so distant. At one point, she vanishes, and then returns with Seolhyun and Sunmi as his vision clouds, tears disturbing the protective eye coating.

“Jonginnie, what’s wrong?” one of them asks, crowding around him.

“He’s probably hurt,” another suggests, stroking his arm, worry heavy in her voice.

He feels so empty. How can tears continue to pour out, when Jongin has nothing else inside?

Yoona grabs his face, pulling it close to hers and studying his eyes. “Come here,” she orders, taking his hand and dragging him along the illuminated palace. He didn’t even notice her arrival. Or even that they have returned home already.

By the time he’s tucked into his bed, his father is at his other side to fuss as well. “My baby,” he whispers.

“I think he’s just tired,” Yoona undoes the tie and loosens Jongin’s braid, combing her fingers through it to straighten it out and allow it to settle. She doesn’t sound confident, but no one protests the diagnosis. “He probably got too excited that he didn’t even sleep.”

“He hasn’t said anything,” Sunmi observes.

Seolhyun leans in to look at his eyes again. All these faces. Happiness feels leagues away, leaving him alternating between numb and hollow. “Are you hungry, big baby?” she asks gently.

Jongin shuts his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest and curling into a ball to try and block everyone out He just wants to be left alone. He’s home. He’s safe. He’s done.

He sleeps.

His sisters keep visiting. Even his grandmother comes, sings to him, trying to coax some response out. They must be so worried and frustrated, but no one really presses him further. Jongin’s exhaustion fades away as the days creep by. His wounds heal, but the emptiness stays.

He dreams that the body he rolled over that night was bloated, fully blue. That no matter what he did, his lander counterpart remained lifeless. Or that the next day came, and the prince’s enemies were the ones to discover his vulnerable body on the shore.

Jongin had left him all alone. He had saved him, and left him to possibly just die a different death anyway.

He can hear Kyungsoo’s quiet, low lullaby, if he focuses hard enough. The memory is already weak and fading.

On day three, Jongin leaves the palace. He just needs to get out, breathe, think about if he could handle a trip to the surface right now. It doesn’t really make sense. Why would he  _ need _ to know if the other prince survived? Why does it weigh on his conscience when Jongin had risked his own life to save him?

“What’s the matter, grumpy gills?” Taemin asks, swirling circles around Jongin and pinching his cheeks. His smile doesn’t waver as Jongin pushes him off. “Was it exciting? Did you have fun? It stormed before you got back. It got  _ so  _ messy here.”

Jongin makes a noncommittal sound. It’s the first thing he’s said in days. His throat hurts.

“Did you bring me back anything?” Taemin continues, teal fins blocking Jongin’s face, his obnoxious way of trying to get Jongin to engage.

“No.”

This continues as he drifts. Taemin seems to have caught on that something is wrong, but persists in his cheeriness. He’s dancing now, body jerking erratically as he circles faster around Jongin.

“I want to go back,” Jongin whispers, staring blankly ahead.

“Me too,” Taemin agrees blindly. “I found these little bugs last time. They were really crunchy and tasty. Did you try any?”

“No,” Jongin shakes his head for emphasis, “I need to go  _ back _ .”

“What, like right now? Why?”

“I need to see…” He trails off, wondering just what the end of that sentence should be.

“Wow, I didn’t even realize we came all the way out here,” Taemin says, swimming ahead. He pulls at some of the flora, splitting it into fine strands and slurping blissfully. “Gorgonian,” he offers Jongin. “It’s good today.”

“Don’t want any.”

Taemin is in the middle of another pep talk or attempt at distracting him, and Jongin should be grateful, but he just can’t convince himself to feel it. 

“Just  _ stop _ ,” he snaps, cutting Taemin off from explaining some inane drama between more of their friends.

Taemin stops. And stares at him in confusion. His brows lower, and Jongin flashes back to days ago, on the beach, Kyungsoo stirring from sleep. He wonders if the prince ever woke up.

_ “Please,” _ Jongin begs emphatically. “I just want to be alone.”

HIs friend cradles Jongin’s face in his hands, studies him in silence, and then backs away wordlessly. Gone is the playful attitude. The same worry that his family has been wearing reflects on Taemin’s features. He frowns and combs through Jongin’s hair.

“I’ll wait for you by the seamount, alright?” Taemin says softly, casting another concerned look before swimming away.

Alone with just his thoughts again, it feels no different from being trapped in the palace. He tries to focus, concentrating on the lullaby again. It’s even fainter now.

“I thought he’d  _ never _ leave,” a smoky, lilting voice says.

Jongin searches for its owner. He spots movement in the shadows and squints, making out some curling motions.

“Happy late birthday, little princey,” the voice teases. It is completely different from the way anyone else speaks to him, cutting and mocking. He doesn’t recognize this person. Slowly, a face materializes from the dark, arms coming up to brush the hair from her face. The woman smiles again and comes toward him. Something about the way she moves disturbs him. She rises and falls in a slow bounce. It’s disorienting.

It might be best to ignore her. Jongin is still weary from the trip. He averts his eyes.

“Too bad about Prince Kyungsoo, isn’t it?” she says.

Jongin whips back to face her, eyes wide at the name. “What did you say?”

“Don’t worry, darling,” she purrs at him. The bouncing grows more noticeable now. “ _ My _ first love died tragically too. Life goes on.”

She takes another step, and Jongin jerks back. In place of fins, deep red tentacles stretch out to pull her across the floor.

He almost turns and flees. Hyoyeon had told him stories of the Cirrata people years ago that occasionally  _ still _ gave him nightmares. Cannibals. Witches. Too scary of stories for Jongin’s tastes. His heart is thumping so heavily, he can hear it, but somehow, the woman’s words keep him rooted in place, bewitched.

“You had a good three days though, didn’t you?” she asks, canting her head to the right, the corner of her lip tugging up into a taunting smirk. “Even a kiss, of sorts. How spicy.”

“I don’t know you,” Jongin confesses shakily.

“Oh, but I know  _ you _ , my sweet cookie.” She winks, as if sharing a joke. And then she crosses her arms, offering nothing more, waiting him out.

“He-” Jongin swallows, feeling a chill run through him. “He’s dead?”

“Sure looked that way,” she shrugs easily as she sways to the current. She takes a step forward, a musical laugh erupting as Jongin matches with a swift hop back. Her smile deepens and she leans closer. “Do you want to see for yourself?”

His mouth hangs open. “See?”

In lieu of answering, she gives him another knowing look and clasps her hands together in front of her face, slowly opening them outward to him. A bubble shimmers and grows between her fingers, opaque and oily and—

_ Pop _ .

She glares at him as she swishes her hand through the now-empty space. “Don’t  _ touch _ it, fool!”

There’s a bitter taste in the water, until whatever remained finishes dissipating. Jongin gulps, abashed at his impulsiveness.

The woman repeats her motions, and the bubble grows as large as Jongin’s head, floating between them, colors swirling in its depths.

“Oh, look,” the woman offers casually, as if whatever she sees is obvious to all present.

Jongin leans in closer, trying to make sense of the patterns. He is too busy focusing on the orb that he doesn’t recognize the noises in his periphery until the volume increases: Kyungsoo’s song, in his voice, looping. Jongin gasps, and suddenly, the picture resolves before him.

The bubble shows the Crown Prince’s face, dark and furious as he shouts something inaudible to them, the song growing even louder as it surrounds him.

“He’s alive,” Jongin whispers. It came out as a statement, but he eagerly anticipates the witch’s confirmation that what he sees is the truth, the present.

“Huh,” she makes an amused face and clicks her tongue. “Didn’t think he would be, seeing how you left him to die.”

“He’s  _ alive _ ,” he repeats, relief bubbling up inside him only to be batted down by guilt as her sentence registers. He gawks at her. “I didn’t— I  _ had  _ to leave!”

“Of course, lovey,” she patronizes, jutting her lip out as she nods sagely.

_ Lovey _ . What had she said earlier, after she dropped Kyungsoo’s name? He’s so confused and overwhelmed, his mind still groggy from everything before this. “He is safe now, right?”

She looks upward, shrugging once more, her bosom heaving dramatically. “He’s not currently drowning. Is that safe enough for you?”

“What does that mean?” Jongin presses, growing increasingly frustrated. The song doesn’t help. It’s haunting him now, Kyungsoo’s sad voice a reminder that he left the other prince without confirming anything.

“You wouldn’t understand, little one,” the woman sighs. “Your heart may feel it, but without a soul, you’ll never be able to know what  _ any  _ of this means.”

“A soul,” he echoes, perplexed at the term.

Another heavy sigh, and the octopus woman slinks around him, circling him slowly. “Are your sisters this clueless too? Do you not get an education at the palace?”

_ “Please,” _ Jongin grits out, to avoid snapping rudely.

She reappears on his left, smug smile on her crimson lips. “Auntie Hwasa shall teach you, I suppose,” she says in a weary tone, coming all the way back around and settling herself into the floor comfortable before inviting him to do the same. He doesn’t want to, but after a moment, relents. “What do you know of landers?”

“A lot,” Jongin answers confidently, hoping to skip past this extraneous stuff. “What is a ‘soul’?”

She laughs, high and bright, like a much younger girl. “When we die,” she starts, reaching out to the orb and pinching at it, tugging it toward him, “we dissolve into bubbles.” The orb pops, turning into dozens of smaller spheres as it drifts past Jongin’s face. “We are washed away in the next current. We become nothingness.”

“I  _ know _ ,” he states blandly.

_ “Landpeople, _ ” she continues, unbothered, “traded away a watered down life for something real: a  _ soul _ . It allows them to live forever. Their bodies don’t just flush away with the tide. Their hearts, their very existences, continue everlasting.”

What magic is she speaking of? It feels like she keeps jumping through different topics, not fully answering anything. If only the music could stop, so Jongin could think properly. “What does this have to do with love?” he asks, repeating the question back to himself.

“Do you not love him?” she asks.

Who, the crown prince? Jongin got to observe him. Like a pet, like a visiting, curious porpoise. He was fascinated, and then worried. The prince’s brief, winsome smile transforming to blue lips in days.

“You are so young,” the auntie intones, shaking her head sadly. “I was young too, once. Too foolish to know I was in love until it was too late.”

“He’s alive,” Jongin hurries out defensively. “I could return to the surface to see him.”

“Ahh yes,” she nods again. “Next year. Twelve whole moons.”

“I could go now…” he says, immediately losing confidence in that claim.

“And rupture something, no doubt.”

She is right. Jongin doesn’t know how she knows so much about him, but she’s right. He wouldn’t make it. But the seed has been planted. He must see Kyungsoo again. If for no other reason, he must confirm with his own eyes that the other prince has survived, is indeed safe.

“I have to see him,” he begs, wringing his hands anxiously.

She covers his hands with one of her own, squeezing comfortingly. Jongin looks up to see her face soften, the next smile sincere and warm. Her eyes sparkle, and in this light, looks almost like Kyungsoo’s. “I know, dearie,” she leans in closer to whisper, “I can help you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be warned, this is based off of the original Little Mermaid story. This chapter... gets pretty graphic.

For his people, every decade or so brings slight color changes to some of their scales. It's effectively the only marker for age, until they reach around three hundred years or more, where they start to grow fleshy whiskers and ridges up their spines. Jongin has a single, silver-toned scale on his backside, near where his tail fins start, for example. He doesn't remember much of his mother, but Jongin recalls a few bright pink spots scattered among her royal blue tail. His grandmother's is prismatic, a rainbow of blues. He's been trying to decide just how much older this “Auntie” Hwasa is on their way here, but her tentacles are a solid red throughout. He can't even guess at anything.

Auntie Hwasa’s home is not built from coral like the palace. It’s an eerie place with lots of glass walls filled with trapped bubbles. There are thin pipes along the sides, where brightly striped worms slither out of boiling hot vents. He has barely considered just how deep into her home they have gone when he manages to finally identify the disturbing, persistent smell. He spies a large corpse: a whale, it seems, or at least part of one and quite decayed by the raggedy looks of it. He swallows, trying to hold his breath, to avoid breathing it in. His stomach rolls as something writhes just underneath its skin.

There are creatures inside of it, _feasting_.

Who keeps something like this inside their home…

“A-auntie?” Jongin’s whispers nervously.

One of Hwasa’s blood red tentacles whips out in a snap, right past Jongin’s ear and into the whale. She draws it back, bringing a slithering, slimy thing with it. The claws of both of her hands dig into its midsection and wrench it apart, leaving a cloud of red as the creature is rended into two.

The water turns solid in an instant. Jongin is held in place, the thick gel surrounding him seeping into his gills: _hagfish slime_. Jongin and Taemin had found a nest of hagfish when they were younger, and nearly died from suffocation trying to mess with them. It had been the first time he’d ever experienced anything like that. Being unable to breathe underwater. Absolutely horrifying. The memory comes back violently right now as he struggles to move. It’s nowhere near that level of congestion yet, but he can feel panic rising, threatening to overtake logic and force him into flailing and screaming until his body gives up.

Hwasa stretches her hands outward at him, eyes rolling up into her head, and then claps. Her eyes flash a solid red, and suddenly, Jongin can move freely once more. Between them is a solid white bead, no larger than a fingernail. This one is totally different from the bubble earlier.

“To heal your lungs later, sugar,” Hwasa intones, looking pointedly at the ball.

“This is _medicine_?” Jongin eyes it suspiciously.

“Of a sort.”

Earlier was probably the best time to be sane and cautious, but now is still good, before it can get crazier …

“Auntie, I don’t think—”

“I am giving you legs,” Hwasa says as she drifts toward a shelf of tiny vials. “Going up to the surface isn’t enough. Will you sit at the beach and shout at landers for updates on the whereabouts of a prince?”

“Legs…” She can transform him to give him legs? What kind of magic provides that kind of disguise? The thought of exploring the surface freely, outside of the water is dizzying. All the things he could see and do!

She turns to him and smiles, teeth flashing. “I’ve seen you dance as a merman, sweet child. I can only tremble in anticipation in how well you’ll dance as a lander. Wouldn't that just be _delightful?_ ” Here, she crosses her arms, rubbing her opposing shoulders in an exaggerated shudder.

He hadn't even thought of dancing. “You’re going to turn me into a lander?”

“What use are you to him in the water?” Hwasa asks. “What could you do for him like this? How far do you think you could carry him if he needed help?”

The crown prince. For an instance, Jongin was so distracted by everything that he had forgotten the reason he was here in the first place. Are these things he needs to do soon? Kyungsoo looked very alive in the vision earlier. Is he in some kind of danger still? Will they have to fight their way out? Jongin curls into a fetal position, knee joints pulling upward as he feels over his tail, trying to imagine two legs in its place. He can’t picture himself running on land, much less having to flee from enemies or carry someone away.

But picturing the crown prince, wounded and exhausted and afraid, something settles in Jongin’s stomach. A kind of determination, he thinks. If he had to, he could. He _would_.

But…

“Why are you helping me?”

The ball turns an olive color and melts, shifting in an amorphous blob at eye level as Hwasa continues to toss things into it. She doesn’t look at him, and her answer is a monotone. “True love is a rare and precious thing, beautiful boy. One day, you’ll understand.”

True love… Jongin swallows the lump in his throat. He had just met this lander, but it is undeniable that he feels very strongly toward him. He wants to understand him, to be around him, to protect him. This is how he feels toward his own family, is it not? And how they feel toward him? That is love. He is certain. So this, too, is love?

“His soul will cleave and pour into you,” she continues. “You will be one. And then you will understand what it is like to be in love, to possess it fully, to have something that will last _forever_. And on that day, you can bow your pretty head and drop to your knees and thank Auntie Hwasa for being the one to make it all even possible for you.”

Her words are like electricity shooting through him. Is it possible to feel that different? How could no one else have felt this way before? He knows he's the only one in his family to be so obsessed with the landers, but to have no stories passed down about something of such magnitude as true love?

“You would’ve been married off and sent away from your family otherwise, no? Like your long-forgotten uncles. Some other queendom’s brood, only able to find fleeting happiness in tending to your children and hoping they will care for you in their old age.”

This is not something he’s ever thought of. His father is happy… He is a widow, and his responsibilities are simply to protect and raise his children, since grandmother has resumed her reign, so perhaps… he is purposeless and lonely. But he is… happy, isn't he? And Jongin is his grandmother’s favorite. That is undisputed. But is her fondness for him enough that she would allow him to stay with them? To not wed him to some stranger for the sake of new territories?

“Let’s say that doesn’t happen, though,” the witch’s voice is like silk. “Let’s say no other queendom wants you, or that your dear grandmother would rather keep you at her side, so you can grow old alongside them as they raise their own families. Is that all you want, dear princey? Just a pampered, small, meaningless life where you swim up to see the pretty sights once a year?”

Has that what his life has been up till now? Frivolous and empty? Jongin wants to argue, but what has he accomplished in his eighteen years? He’s studied, but it is nothing remarkable. He’s mostly played and obsessed over the stories about the humans above water. It is true that he was a child for most of those years, is still considered by many to be a child even now, but what the auntie is talking about… If it is something so special and rare, if he might lose it if he doesn’t act quickly, then it cannot wait. Nor would he want to wait. He is a man now, not a child. He will be responsible.

“Do you want it or not?” Hwasa asks as she faces him finally. She heaves a sigh. “I don’t do this for my health. It’s a very time-consuming and tiring spell. If you don’t care about him, then just leave and forget all about those fireworks. I could be napping right now.”

“Wait!” Jongin swims toward her, hands held up. “Please. Yes. Please help me.”

Her eyes harden for an instant. It burns something in his nerves, but Jongin dismisses it with a shake, and an instance later, the feeling is gone. The auntie steps closer to him, looking pensive. “It isn’t easy, to trigger this transformation. There's a lot of preparation involved. On both of our parts.”

“I understand.”

She snaps her fingers, and produces a beige colored sheet, flattening it over some invisible table, taking care to smooth out the corners from curling.

“What is this?” Jongin asks.

“It’s a contract, of course.” A flick of her hand produces a large bird feather, the base of it cut at a bias to form a wickedly sharp tip. She holds it between her fingers and thumb, and smiles at him.

“A contract.” He only repeats the word, and manages to prevent it from tilting up into a question. Jongin feels proud of himself, but still remains unenlightened. What is a contract?

Hwasa gives him a knowing look. She must have seen right through the act. “A spell like this comes at great cost, sun boy,” she explains, her voice dropping lower, until it is barely more than smoke. “I will need your help and participation to see it through.”

All of her epithets have been weighing on his patience, but this recent one almost has him recoiling. That wasn’t a nickname for her to use. Jongin frowns and brushes it aside, nodding quickly, “Okay.”

“Beyond that, it leaves me quite weakened. I will need compensation for my troubles.”

Jongin hooks his fingers together nervously. The way she is looking at him now brings his nerves back to the surface, but disappointment and anxiety are more at the forefront of his mind. He is a prince. He has no authority or property. “I… don’t have anything.”

_“Nothing?”_

He hugs himself, sucking his lower lip in as he wallows. He doesn't have anything of value.

“I'm not asking for much, princeling,” she smiles, and her features warm up immediately. Hwasa’s hand caresses his cheek, flicking his chin with her thumb and then reaching to the side, brushing back his hair. It is too personal, and Jongin twists away, causing her hand to bump against his earring.

He gasps, making the connection as a corner of her lip tugs up. The earring Hyoyeon had gifted him years ago is still his most prized possession. Jongin reaches up and shields it possessively from her view.

But what else does he have…

“I—…”

…It's just an earring. A pretty trinket. Why should a piece of jewelry hold so much importance, anyway? Fighting tears, Jongin repeats that mantra over and over to himself a few more times. It's just pretty. He can always get another one. A better one, even.

“Will-... Will this do?” Jongin removes his precious jade earring and holds it out in his palm. His ear feels so naked without it. The weight had become so familiar, he instantly feels lesser without it.

“Of course, lovely, I'm not greedy,” Hwasa says, her voice consoling and patient. “Such a small price to pay for true love, wouldn't you agree?”

Stroking over the smooth bead one last time, he places it into her open hand. “Please. Help me, auntie.”

Her fingers wrap around it tightly, and her smile returns. “Good boy,” Hwasa says, a glimmer in her eyes. She doesn’t even look down at it. “We now have payment and initiation of contract. Let’s get started.”

“What do I have to do?”

“You will have one hundred days to win the other prince’s heart. A soul is a dynamic, living thing. Succeed, and some of it will pour from his body to yours and grow enough to fill you both.”

That sounds incredible. Jongin glances down as he spies movement and notices that the contract that the auntie laid out earlier now has writing forming across it. He stares, fascinated.

Hwasa exhales slowly. She’s finally stopped adding things to the medicine ball, which has shifted to an orangey coral. “However, if you fail to make him feel what you feel, if the prince loves another, then on the dawn after his wedding, or on the hundredth day of your contract, you will die. You will dissolve into bubbles, and nothing else will become of your story. The years you would have led become forfeit. Under the contract, I am the sole beneficiary, and you guarantee that under no duress.”

Suddenly, the walls seem to glow a little more, and the bubbles imprisoned in the glass seem much more menacing. A shudder runs through him, but Jongin chalks it up to nerves once more. It’s a creepy home, but he is on a mission. He needs to focus. Willing courage, Jongin straightens up. “...I understand.”

“I will be doing the heavy lifting. Your part will be much simpler. You will just have to fill out the contract.”

Jongin looks down at the beige sheet, now nearly full of incomprehensible words, and then back up at the witch, hoping for more instruction than that.

She leans in toward him, and only now does Jongin notice just how sharp her teeth are when she smiles, or the red ring between her pupils and her irises. “It requires your word to seal it and your blood to activate it.”

“...Blood?”

“My dear, we’re creating legs out of your tail. It involves transforming half of your body. It has to have _something_ to work with.”

“Oh.”

The room dims as Hwasa chants something under her breath. A thick plume of lavender smoke swirls along the perimeter, closing in on them. Hwasa is unperturbed, only adjusting them so they face each other directly, her tentacles wrapping around him, her hands gripping his shoulders just as tightly. She slides her right hand up, past his collarbone, her thumb pressing gently over the bump on his neck.

“The contract is ready for your consent. Speak your name,” she commands.

“Jongi—” He chokes, unable to finish the syllable as her long fingers squeeze like a vice around his throat. It keeps tightening, and Jongin panics, trying to wrestle away from her, but her tentacles have an even more secure grip on his arms, pinning him into place. The smoke circles right up against them. He can feel it against his skin as everything gets dark around the edges of his vision.

And then he gasps, and something _pops_ and before him, suspended between her index and thumb, is a glowing, golden bead. The light reflects against her eyes, and Jongin wants to shy away at the hunger within them. He struggles, but can only watch as she presses it against— _into—_ the contract.

 _“What did you do to me!”_ he says, or rather, _attempts_ to say, but no sound comes out of his mouth. Panic spiraling, he repeats it, _screams_ it, but nothing escapes.

“Almost done, pretty,” the witch says. Her voice has changed. It’s lower. There’s more of an edge now. The smokiness has condensed to something harsher. She smiles again at him, and it stops him cold. _“Just the final touch.”_

His blood, he recalls, terror icing his insides as she shoves him into a wall and clambers hastily over him. He hadn’t realized she was so strong, or even this large. His hands flail as her tentacles shift, one pushing against his throat, other to his dominant hand, and several others flattening him to the floor.

Something flashes, and he turns just in time to see the heavy knife appear in her hand as she swings. He bucks and screams, his silent roar cutting off as he helplessly watches the blade come toward the end of his tail, hears the most sickening crunch, and then finally, a soft, ringing _twack_ as its edge finally cuts through to the glass floor underneath him. He freezes in shock. His heart beats, and Jongin can _feel_ the blood rush out of his body as he numbly watches it pool out.

Hwasa releases him, carefully stepping back to pluck the severed golden tail up by a translucent end, a satisfied smile lingering on her lips. She sweeps the knife over the contract, letting the cloud of blood pour over it. It sizzles, and the contract dissolves. She brings his fins to her chest proudly, hugging it against her bosom, and laughs.

The pain is blinding, _searing._ His screams continue soundlessly until he's exhausted himself. His blunted tail is still pulsing out blood, and his kicking has only caused it to spread through the water.

“You look _nothing_ like Solar,” the woman states casually, as if she hasn't just mutilated a prince and is now holding his dismembered tailfins in her embrace. “Your mother deserved so much better.” She laughs again, a hollow bark this time, waving her hand over the remnants of the dissolved contract, pulling it into the medicine ball, causing a flash of light, and transforming it into a dull, golden color. Hwasa catches it before it can drift to the ground, crawls over to him, and wrenches his mouth open, tossing the pill in and holding his jaw shut until he swallows.

Jongin’s throat is raw from exertion. She had mentioned something about his late mother, but all he can think about is how badly the pill burns as it continues down his chest.

“You’re going to keep bleeding, so head for the surface immediately. Or die,” Hwasa says, utter indifference in her voice as she strokes over his detached fins, a single, silver scale glittering against the gold. No remorse. Slowly, her lips pull into one last smirk, victory alight in her eyes. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, you foolish boy. This will shatter your grandmother’s heart. Thank you for that.”

—

He’d been had. There was an obvious explanation after all, as to why there were no stories passed down regarding true love and souls and whatever else. He has been thoroughly, fatally tricked.

Jongin doesn’t really remember how he managed to reach the seamount and found his friends. Taemin and Moonkyu had panicked so much, they nearly brought him back to the palace. He doesn’t remember how he convinced them to change course and head for the surface instead. He can’t speak. He can’t think. He definitely can’t swim.

He can’t feel anything beyond the pain and the shame. _Tricked_.

His friends are arguing amongst each other, something way beyond his comprehension at present. Consciousness feels like a much more optional concept as they drag Jongin up through the water levels.

Why did it not register as something worthy of suspicion that the witch knew so much about him? He had blindly agreed to everything. It wasn’t even good sport for her. And now, he is paying the price for such a stupid and irrational dream. It was all a lie. There’s no true love waiting for him, no soul, and likely, no Kyungsoo either. The other prince probably died days ago, on that beach, and she had fed him a cheap false vision that he had eagerly bought, hook, line, and sinker.

Jongin feels so, so cold.

Some naive part of him is still hopeful that there was at least a _sliver_ of truth in her words. The pain has grown more intense, has spread through him, dulling and transmuting to a maddening itch. If it was all just a trick, then he is about to die, far from home and his family, and all for _nothing_.

“The queen will know what to d—” Moonkyu starts again.

“We have to trust him,” Taemin snaps, kicking harder. His eyes are cloudy and red, tears reacting with the protective gel coating. It must burn. Jongin’s best friend had been so cheery just a few hours ago, so determined to brighten his mood. _“Hold on, Nini.”_

“He’s lost so much blood…”

Taemin looks hard at him. “What did you _do_?”

She had called him sun boy. She called him many other things too, but one doesn’t just happen upon that combination of words. It was his mother’s nickname for him, and one of the very rare memories he has of her. And she knew his mother. By name too. What _did_ he do? It feels important, and way bigger than a lost tail, but at present, everything is too overwhelming, he can barely see straight, much less figure any of this out.

“He won’t survive the surface,” Moonkyu argues. “It’s too soon. He hasn’t recovered enough.”

Jongin shakes his head vigorously. They have to know by now that there’s no way for him to return to the palace. They return to arguing anyway, until Jongin suddenly thrashes against them, clawing at his neck, silently screaming. It burns, like the water rushing through his gills is boiling, scalding his insides.

One of them presses fingers against his neck, along his searing gills, while the other restrains him, and then he hears Taemin’s panicked voice: _“Hurry!”_

“What’s _happening_ to him?” he hears Moonkyu shout.

His friends swim faster, rattling him between them as they furiously kick for the surface. The most intense sensation builds at the base of his skull and rolls down his spine. Something rips, loud and harsh through the water, and the other two halt, dumbstruck as they stare at him. Jongin follows their eyes down his body to see golden scales flaking away from him, and two legs where his tail had once been. He gasps, but the water coming in chokes him. The very water that has sustained and nurtured him his entire life is killing him. The world slows down as he reflexively lurches for another breath, weak and dizzy. His vision darkens around the edges. Fool, fool, fool.

Taemin and Moonkyu release him, their momentum pulling him upward, and then the surface breaks, the sun blinding his vision and the air dissolving the gel on his eyes. Jongin’s chest heaves as he coughs out a seemingly endless amount of water, until he can finally collapse, sucking in greedy lungfuls of precious air.

He’ll never mock landers on their swimming again. Jongin sinks as he tries to kick on his own. The new legs coordinate poorly. Moonkyu has to keep propping him back up, or his head goes underwater. One of them pulls his face back in. It’s hard to see who. The water distorts his vision, and panic rises instantly as he holds his breath.

“It’s the middle of the day. We can’t go with you. Head for shore,” Taemin rushes out shakily. He sounds so anxious, having to condense whatever he and Moonkyu has decided into a few short words, into one breath. “We’ll get the queen. She’ll know what to do. We’ll be back. Be safe, okay?”

Jongin nods blindly, and they push him back up. The water stings his eyes, but he caught a glimpse of the beach before he had to slam his lids shut again. Moonkyu gives him one last boost, shoving him awkwardly through the water. He kicks, jerky motions slowly propelling him forward as he alternates one foot with the other, trying his best to ignore the uncomfortable, unnatural pressure of storing rapidly expiring air in his lungs. He accidentally inhales water a few times, sputtering as he paddles his way to the beach. Jongin collapses into the wet sand, all of the adrenaline burnt away as his body gives up. He couldn’t move an inch further if he _had_ to. He can’t even turn back to see if his friends are still there.

 _“There’s a body!”_ someone shouts, followed by a high pitched barking noise.

Instinct says to panic and flee, but Jongin’s body says to sleep. He’s already drifted off when he feels someone shaking him by the shoulders. His eyes flutter open weakly, and for a moment, it almost looks like Kyungsoo is before him, with his star-filled eyes and his sunshine face, yelling at him as he scoops Jongin out of the water.

“Are you okay?” the hallucination shouts as it throttles him. It’s a pretty convincing vision.

Jongin faints.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm wrong. I'd say cue the "I-told-you-so" rounds, but I mean, y'all have already been doing that. Bring it in, bring it in. Either way, yeah, I originally thought this would be an easy, 3-10k chaptered fic. It's... not. But each chapter should be pretty substantial. This chapter was... way harder to write than I expected, and I'm going through some IRL stuff, so I apologize for the delay. Thank you all for reading this. I know not a lot of people are, and I am really grateful for each of you. I hope I am doing this story justice. It's an absolutely beautiful plot in my head, and I can only hope that the execution is even a fraction of how it feels to me. Anyway, because this won't be finished...uh, in the next chapter, I'm going to finish the Glucose Guardian chapter that I started, and possibly the Yes, Alpha chapter as well. Ideally, I'll still be able to update this one on schedule, but I don't want to let the other fics sit for too long either. (Like they have been *cough cough*)

Jongin wakes up alone, disoriented, and starving.

He is in a room, that much he knows. There is light filtering in through the white screens of the wall furthest from him. Throwing the heavy blanket off his body, Jongin scrambles away from the soft pallet he had been resting on, and promptly freezes.

Someone had dressed him in some sort of lander garments. Two pieces, a top and bottom, all white with thin ties to hold everything in place. It feels weird and oppressive to have fabric rubbing against his skin, weighing down on his shoulders, his legs.

_His legs._

Feet poke out of the ends of the pants. Jongin marvels at the toes as he manages to wiggle them, little, fluttering waves mirroring each other. Something rolls in his gut and Jongin gapes, fighting nausea, tugging the legs of the pants upward to reveal more skin.

These legs are a yellowy beige color — the _exact_ color of Hwasa’s contract, in fact, matching its texture and appearance as well. His mouth goes dry as he tries to stop the flurry of disturbing thoughts from connecting.

Will the next poor, unfortunate soul who wanders into her home be signing their life away on a golden contract, then?

A sob tries to bubble its way up his throat, but it breaks silently. Jongin’s chest heaves as he presses his face into his knees, arms around his hard-earned legs as he wallows in self-pity. In the back of his eyelids, he can still see the knife swing down. He can still hear the hollow ringing as the blade’s edge connected with the ground underneath. He can still _feel_ the vacuuming sensation, the rush of blood exiting his body so carelessly.

The sound of wood scraping together startles him, and Jongin looks up to see two landers walk into the room, one exclaiming with a clap: “Oh, he’s awake!”

Jongin’s eyes go wide as he hurriedly wipes away his tears. He doesn’t recognize them, not that he's familiar with _any_ landers beyond Kyungsoo. He has no idea where he even _is_. They speak the local language. He can understand them enough, despite how exhausting it is to keep up. Looking around the room reveals nothing discernible. There are some modest decorations, but none of that means anything to him.

“About time!” the second one proclaims, walking directly to him and pulling the blanket away. “I don’t know why he’s even here in the first place.”

The first one steps into place, helping the second with folding the blanket into smaller rectangles. “I’ll tell Baekhyun he made it.” He looks at Jongin again, “I bet you’re hungry! What’s your name?”

Almost, he answers them. Instead, swallowing more self-pity, Jongin folds his hands over the front of his neck, holding his mouth open.

“What?” the second one carries the blanket over to the side of the room and stashes it away. “What’d he say?”

“He didn’t,” says the first, squinting as he steps closer to Jongin.

Fighting the urge to throw things at them, to assuage his frustration, Jongin tries again, even attempting to force noise from his throat. Nothing. Nothing but raspy air.

“You can’t speak?” the first one asks.

Jongin shakes his head slowly.

“Can he hear?”

“Yah, of course he can hear. He just answered, didn’t he?” The first one gestures at Jongin again. “You can hear, can’t ya?”

Jongin scowls at the two of them.

“Uy, look at that stern face,” the first one reprimands, swatting playfully at him. His tone is light and teasing, totally unthreatened. “You’d think he was the prince or someone big and important.”

The second one snorts out a laugh, and opts to lecture instead, “Hey, Mr. Big-And-Important, we’ve been taking care of you for the past three days. We’re the ones who’ll be bringing you food in a bit, free of charge. You don’t know how to show a grateful face to your saviors at least? _Aish._ ”

They're not trying to be mean-spirited. Jongin just has no capacity for their teasing joviality. A part of him feels guilty, disrespectful as accused, as he ignores them, massaging his new calves and hoping they will leave soon.

They bring him food after a few more rounds of yes-or-no questions: some mushy vegetables and watery porridge, they explain. It is bland, but Jongin devours all of it within a few minutes. He polishes off the entire pot of fragrant tea that they bring in as well, regretting how full he feels as he still craves more afterward. He was _hungry_ , it seems.

His first and only attempt to stand fails spectacularly. The pain does not even give him a chance to process, his new feet feeling as if they are being split open all over again as he collapses in a heap, sending dishes flying. The other two help him back into place, fussing over the mess.

The door slides open again, and Jongin's jaw drops as he recognizes the newcomer.

“Feeling better?” the man asks, making hand fluttering motions for the others to clear the dishes away, setting his own tray down on the table. On it are a few sheets of parchment and some smaller tools.

Jongin nods slowly, gawking as every second that passes confirms that he must not be hallucinating. It _is_ him, isn't it?

The man smiles at him. “They tell me you can't speak? Is that right?”

Again, Jongin nods.

“You're very lucky,” Eunuch Baekhyun tells him. “You were rescued by the Crown Prince himself.”

Jongin struggles to remember how breathing works and reactivate his lungs. The Crown Prince. He is alive. He did make it, at least. Relief courses through him.

“The prince had been celebrating his nineteenth birthday with a short excursion a few days earlier when a terrible storm hit,” Baekhyun continues. “The ship wrecked, yet the heavens had protected us. They even sent an angel to transport the prince safely to shore the very same night of the accident. The crew didn't even reach land until almost two days later. I thought I was going to die!”

He didn't even think about the crew that night. Jongin frowns, guilt growing. An angel he definitely is not.

“Bless him, he had been out there for days, working tirelessly to help find more survivors. I told him that everyone was already accounted for, and yet he kept trying to search.” The eunuch purses his lips thoughtfully as he looks over Jongin. “Truly, you are so lucky.”

Lucky… Not that there is any point in holding his tongue, but Jongin looks away, hugging his knees to his chest.

“I don’t recognize you,” Baekhyun continues, gesturing toward the two servants as they leave the room. “They told me your skin is very soft, like you’d never had to walk anywhere or worked with your hands. You must be of noble birth, although if you can’t speak, it would make sense your family never spoke of you to the royal family.” He pauses, looking over Jongin’s face carefully. “I am the Crown Prince’s chief adviser. He is not in the business of gossiping about the nobility. If you can write out your family name, I promise to contact them with utmost discretion to get you home expediently.”

With that, he adjusts the tray to catch Jongin’s attention. Pushing the table closer, the eunuch adds a few drops of water to a black tablet, swirling it slowly and evenly until it turns into a paste. He pivots a brush toward Jongin’s direction and sits back expectantly.

Paper and ink. An impulse grows in him to grab it and experiment, but Jongin resists. He had watched Kyungsoo on the ship, scribbling down strange patterns into his journals well into the dark, lit by candlelight. He had sifted through the sheafs while he was sampling the leftovers, but they were all mysterious runes to him. Jongin sighs and looks back up to the eunuch. Even if he _could_ write, what would he say? ‘ _I’m from the ocean world. I’m here for a lie. Please take care of me.’_

Baekhyun’s face scrunches up. “I didn’t think you would be able to,” he mutters, resting his hands on either side of the tray and sighing back. “But I had hoped.” He sounds very sympathetic and uncomfortable.

Jongin clears his throat quietly.

“I don’t want to… seem cold-hearted here,” the man continues, his voice softening, “but you can’t stay. The prince has enough on his plate. I definitely don’t wish for you to throw yourself into the ocean again, but whatever unhappiness or misfortune you have is not the prince’s responsibility to fix. He has an entire nation to watch over. Your family clearly has taken care of you before all of this. I am sure they are missing you right now, and are anxiously awaiting your return home.”

Each word cuts right into his heart. Jongin’s eyes burn, and he closes them, fighting shameful tears. How ironic, the eunuch’s choice of words. If Jongin tried to view himself from a lander’s perspective, with no explanation, he could see how Baekhyun would interpret his presence here. It’s almost amusing, if only it did not run right up against the truth. It is admirable that Kyungsoo is the type of person to inspire such loyalty in another. And of course, his prince is _not_ the one to blame for Jongin’s predicament. The fault therein lies entirely on Jongin.

His family… His family must definitely be awaiting his return. What could Taemin and Moonkyu have told them? What can they possibly do beside mourn once they find out?

Only now does it finally settle that he will never see them again. The terms of the contract stated he would live a happy life on land, or die. Neither option involved a joyful reunion with his family. He will die here, one way or the other. No more grandmother or father, no more Yoona or Hyoyeon or Seulgi or Seolhyun or Minji or Sunmi. He did not even get to say goodbye.

What has he done…

“Don't cry,” Baekhyun rubs his shoulder in a feeble attempt at offering comfort and reassurance. “It will be okay. You will be okay.”

 _Leave_ , Jongin hears the underlying message loud and clear as the sobs continue to wrack his body. All that he had unwittingly sacrificed has amounted to this, to being an inconvenience that needs to remove itself. He forces himself to nod as he brushes Baekhyun’s hand away, steeping in his hopelessness and misery.

“I’m going to leave now,” Baekhyun says, after he clears his throat and rises to his feet. “You should get some more rest. The others will return in a few hours if… you would like some more food. It is still very early in the day. They are also ready to escort you to the gate.”

More absent nodding. He already feels tired again. Despondency is such an exhausting emotion. Perhaps he _should_ rest, since he has no other plans.

Taking one last look at him, the eunuch offers a small bow, and leaves, sliding the screen door shut.

—

Having no better alternative spring to mind, Jongin manages to stay another night before the servants once again suggest he vacate the premises. He is really dreading that part. Not so much the leaving, because it does not matter where he goes anyway, but his new feet still haven't adjusted. Or maybe it isn't about adjusting, and rather, haphazardly forming magic feet from truncated tails loses something important in the translation. Each step brings gut-wrenching agony. It is like walking on freshly sharpened knives. There is just no getting used to it. The servants have taught him where and how to properly relieve himself after another round of scolding, and even those few, short treks have been absolutely torturous.

But even with everything else taken from him, Jongin can still have some semblance of pride. He won't wait for them to forcibly evict him. Clutching every door frame and wall he can reach, Jongin eventually limps his way out of his room. There is a short corridor, and then the exit to a courtyard. Descending the two steps saps his reserves, nearly causing him to faint. He is drenched in sweat already.

This is unfair. Unjust. He had not led the most punctilious life, but nothing he has done in his eighteen years could warrant this kind of fate. Infatuation with a lander and a healthy sense of curiosity should not be enough to doom him to such an awful death. Sent away from his family, unable to speak, barely able to move, and then not even be able to see the very lander who brought this curse upon him in the first place. The sun, he was taught, is fair; and the moon, merciful. Perhaps because he had been in that room, hidden from them both for the past few days, that they have been unable to help him. But if they could have helped him at all, would they not have stopped the witch in the first place? Or stopped Kyungsoo's ship from wrecking? Or made it so their paths never crossed altogether, so landers could remain a beautiful childhood mystery.

Who is he kidding? There are no fair or merciful gods. His grandmother had always told him, in supplement to the stories, that queens and kings must rule as if gods have no influence, and that their people have only them to rely upon. What good are gods then, outside of fairytales?

The early morning light filters in gently through the dense foliage of nearby trees. It smells very different here. Pleasant, at least. He can see small particles within the sunbeams. The nights are terrifying on land, in this form. Jongin has never truly been in the dark before. It hurts to do so, but Jongin toddles his way to a tree with bright pink, fragrant flowers, stretching his hand out to mingle with the rays and dust motes. It warms his skin. A gentle reminder that the gods are real, and he can feel their presence, but they don't care about his, it seems.

There is some commotion to the east. It takes so much out of him to just shift his weight and face that direction. Jongin braces against a stone arch, wiping sweat from his brow as footsteps approach.

“Is this the survivor?”

He stops breathing. That deep voice… He recognizes it instantly. Jongin slowly turns his gaze upward from the patterned stone floor and gawks.

“Yes, your highness,” Baekhyun answers with a bow, flanking them.

Kyungsoo smiles at him. “You’re awake.”

Jongin takes a step — _attempts_ to take a step — and the pain zigzags up his leg like a lightning bolt. He can feel his body falling, and then it stops, cushioned and braced as Kyungsoo grunts against him.

“He still has some trouble walking,” Baekhyun explains at his side, pulling him upright.

The Crown Prince’s face is a breath away from Jongin’s. He smiles again, a close-lipped, courteous one as he waves the eunuch away, patiently helping Jongin back to his feet. He is studying Jongin’s face, searching.

His eyes are so clear. He blinks, and Jongin marvels some more at their clarity, at the shape and symmetry and how did Jongin ever look upon him once upon a time and find him ordinary?

Kyungsoo clears his throat and drops his hands away from Jongin’s wrists after one more look over. “Has a physician seen him yet?”

Baekhyun frowns. “Of course not, your highness. He has no wounds. He is _fine_ —”

“Why are you outside of your room? Where are your shoes? You need more clothes.” Is the other prince scolding him? “You are still recovering.”

Confused and without the means to answer, Jongin flails for a few seconds, but eventually turns to the eunuch for assistance. Baekhyun meets his gaze with an affronted one, as if Jongin had exposed him. “Your highness, I’m sure he is eager to get back to his home, and we've just caught him as he was leaving. He had no injuries. We have been taking very good care of him, I assure you.”

Kyungsoo turns and looks over his shoulder, past his procession of a dozen servants. Turning back, he smiles at Jongin again, although this time it is more of a smirk as he clasps a hand onto Jongin’s shoulder, mischief and youth twinkling in his eyes. “It was me who rescued you. It is only right that I see you safely all the way back to your family. I’ll escort you home then.”

_“Your highness—”_

“Go tell the scholars that I must postpone my exams,” Kyungsoo instructs with a wave, barely concealing his burgeoning joy, although at what, Jongin cannot even begin to fathom. At another round of Baekhyun’s protests, he clicks his tongue and holds up a hand. “Lessons learned through books are meaningless without reflection into our own actions and experiences. I have rescued this man. I have a responsibility to him. We shall reschedule the exam for… let’s say the end of the week.”

The eunuch looks ripe for further arguing, but Kyungsoo wins their silent battle, and Baekhyun storms away after a bow and a huff.

Kyungsoo leans in to speak in a whisper, “Is it true that you cannot speak, or were you just ignoring Baekhyun?”

Jongin purses his lips and shakes his head.

“Oh.” The other prince abruptly looks more disappointed, as if the answer truly shocked him. He clears his throat, “Well. Lead the way then.”

Jongin surveys the courtyard nervously. It is still surreal that Kyungsoo really is standing in front of him right now. That he survived, that he is _here_ . That… Jongin still feels so excited to be in his presence. Not just in his presence, _communicating with him_ … after a fashion. He is no longer just some mystical creature, only observable from afar.

Kyungsoo is still watching him, expectant. Jongin looks around again. All the archways look the same. He knows the room he came out of, but any direction seems as good as the next. He again heads toward the rising sun, wincing as he grips the stone's sharply mitered edge to maintain balance.

“That way leads to my palace,” Kyungsoo information him blandly.

Spinning around, Jongin shoots him an annoyed look. He is clearly a stranger here. Why would he be expected to know its layout? But instead of being abashed or offended, Kyungsoo grins.

“Do you know the way back to your home?”

Jongin shakes his head.

“Are you from here?”

Another shake.

“I didn't think so.” Victory lights up Kyungsoo's face. “I would have known. You don't look like-… like anyone from around here.”

On some kind of reflex, Jongin finds himself smiling in return. It is infectious, he supposes.

Kyungsoo nods and leans in conspiratorially, “Come with me.”

Jongin manages three steps. Tears burn his eyes despite multiple attempts to suppress them. He wipes sweat from his brow and grits his teeth.

“Actually,” Kyungsoo walks back to him, concern on his face, “let's go back to your room.” He flags an attendant to him and mumbles some instructions. The man looks very confused, but leaves with a curt bow.

At Kyungsoo's command, two men break away from the prince's group to help Jongin up the two steps and back into the building. It is much more bearable, at least. There, the men continue to fuss, rearranging the small furniture as Kyungsoo positions himself at the furthest spot from the door.

“Leave us,” the prince orders.

This time, there is hesitation. But the men look among each other and find no brave volunteers, and after another pause, they bow out of the room, sliding the door shut.

“I am Crown Prince Do Kyungsoo. Did you know that?”

Jongin watches the other prince fuss with the top sheet of paper on the table. He nods.

Kyungsoo sucks his lower lip in. “Have we met before?”

Just how would Kyungsoo respond if he nodded right now… And then what could Jongin say? _Nothing_. Absolutely zilch. He can’t elaborate on how, _funny story,_ _he_ actually saved _Kyungsoo_ , and then fell for some love hoax-slash-revenge plot thing, and now here he is, a fish out of water, gasping out its last breaths, all because he thought he saw the sun rise in Kyungsoo’s face and the night sky in his eyes.

“I think we have,” Kyungsoo whispers, so low that it is difficult for Jongin to understand him. “But you don’t look like you belong to any of the noble families here. And… you couldn’t be an ambassador, since you cannot-...”

His sentence trails off, but Kyungsoo looks increasingly confident in his claim. Jongin waits, twisting his fingers anxiously as he wonders if it is possible, that Kyungsoo remembers that night after all, and remembers Jongin’s face. Was there truth in Hwasa’s words? Is it possible for their fates to be interlinked somehow? Just a sliver of truth to sell the lie?

He has seen his own reflection. Jongin looks very different now, with lander skin all solid and uniform over his transformed body. Even if Kyungsoo remembered his face, why would it occur to him to make the leap from merman to lander features? They stare at each other, unblinking, puzzles and questions and threads of fate between them.

A man announces himself, and the door slides open. Two men come in, one from Kyungsoo’s group earlier, and an older man in much less elegant clothing. They bow, and the servant greets Kyungsoo, but the older man silently drops to his knees and prostrates himself to where his forehead stays planted on the floor.

“Ask him—” Kyungsoo pauses and takes in a deep breath before gesturing to the older man. “Let’s start with asking him what his name is.”

The man smells like food. His hands are much rougher than anyone else’s here. His hair kept much simpler. He looks up, and Jongin sees fear and confusion in his eyes.

The servant nudges him gently. “The Crown Prince requests that you translate. Hurry!”

The old man licks his lips nervously as he turns to Jongin. He holds his right palm out, taps his hands together, and then tilts both hands out and upward.

Jongin stares helplessly as the man tries again, and then again. There is the urge to copy his motions, but Jongin refrains, fearing that might do more harm than good.

“Enough,” Kyungsoo commands softly. He leans forward and gestures toward the older man. “Thank you for your assistance. You may return to the kitchen.” To the servant, he waves a dismissal, and within moments, they are alone again. The prince exhales a disappointed sigh and covers his face in his hands, rubbing up and down in frustration. I… _hoped_ that would work, but I didn’t expect it to.” Kyungsoo begins folding up one corner of the paper, creasing it over and over into narrow pleats. “Before… you came here, could you speak?”

Jongin nods. If only he knew.

“That makes sense. I will have a physician examine you.” Discouraged, Kyungsoo continues to worry his lower lip and fold the paper until it has reached the other end, unfolding it carefully and rotating to repeat his treatment at a different angle.

The whispery sound of each fold being creased down fills the otherwise silent room. If Jongin focuses, he can hear the breathing and small adjustments the men on the other side of the door are making. He fidgets, wondering how Kyungsoo can stay so still.

“Would you like to know a secret?”

There is that look again. That brief flash of mischief from earlier. Jongin arches an eyebrow, which causes Kyungsoo’s smile to reappear. They amuse each other, it seems. He nods.

Kyungsoo laughs, a single, sharp huff of a laugh, and shakes his head. “I am supposed to be tested by the academy right now. You are actually doing me a great favor. I… didn’t study.”

Jongin doesn’t understand some of the words, but going by context, he assumes that this is education related. He had tutors too, back home.

“It’s not that I _couldn’t_ learn it,” Kyungsoo defends hastily, pink dusting his cheeks, “but Spring and Autumn Annals is significantly longer and… slower-paced than the other Classics.” He looks to the side, face scrunching up as he futilely tries to suppress another smile. “You would think they would be merciful. You and I have something in common, you know.”

He does. More than Kyungsoo knows.

“My ship got caught in a terrible storm a week ago,” Kyungsoo says, and in his eyes, Jongin can see him reliving the disaster. “It wrecked. I almost drowned. Or perhaps I _did_ drown.” His brows furrow, making him look stern, upset. “I was… rescued as well. By an angel.”

Well. Jongin grins to himself, palming over the lower half of his face to disguise it.

Kyungsoo clears his throat and unfolds the paper, smoothing it out unnecessarily. He is distracting himself too well to notice anyway. “The entire crew also survived. It was a miracle. And… because it was a miracle, the academy felt that everything should still proceed as planned with my exam. But I had only opened the book once at the start of this month, and once more yesterday night. So… don’t feel indebted. Take all the time you need to recover, alright?”

If only there was a way to tell Kyungsoo his side… Frustration looms, but Jongin nods, unsatisfied at their progress.

“In the meantime though, what should we call you…”

Jongin looks up at the other prince’s bright face. Feeling inspired, he tries: “ _JONG—IN.”_ Nothing comes out, but Kyungsoo is paying attention. He tries again.

“Song...hee?”

No.

“Chu..sik?”

He is going to die because of this fool. The gods have truly forsaken him.

“Tok...jin?”

_Ugh._

After some time, Kyungsoo drags his hands over his face again. “I cannot guess,” he admits. “Would you accept a temporary name, until the physician can cure you?”

Jongin’s lip juts out. He is a prince too. His father had named him with pride and consideration. But he had no way of miming it out to this lander. Reluctantly, he nods.

Kyungsoo laughs an airy little chuckle. “Ahh… let’s see. Shikyung?”

_Don’t._

Kyungsoo’s teeth are on full display. He is so entertained, it is unfair. “...Ato? Kai?”

Jongin huffs.

“Ay, you’re hard to please. Do you know how many people wish they could be named by a prince?”

Jongin snorts.

Making some appeasing sounds in return, a very amused Kyungsoo swats at the air and looks upward, thoughtful. “How about ‘Jiwon’? I like that name.”

Honestly, what is so difficult about sounding out ‘Jongin’? But at least that sounds better than the random noises from earlier. Jongin nods, making sure to sigh as dramatically as possible.

Kyungsoo’s pleased smile washes away all of his irritation in an instant. He looks rather proud of himself, eyes crinkling at the outer corners, until they almost disappear into moon-like crescents. “It’s nice to meet you, Jiwon.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update, but here's just shy of 6k. I hope you love this Soo as much as I do, and I'm so excited to show more of him to you all soon <3

It should not have come to this. Taemin and Moonkyu have surely told his grandmother. The entire queendom must have been in a panic since his departure. He must get home.

Each step is blinding agony. It’s as if he’s stepping over crushed up bits of that same blade the witch used to sever his tail. Dried tear tracks have formed their own, sticky layer on his face as exertion and self-pity overwhelmed, but dignity is hardly a priority right now. He’s a merman stuck between the gods and his home below on this cursed middle ground. Dignity is a luxury he cannot afford.

It had been two nights after he had finally reunited with the other prince that Jongin grew tired of waiting and having the servants fuss and comment. After one of them attempted yet again to persuade him to fashion his hair into their ridiculous style, Jongin decided to make his leave. The other prince hasn’t been back since, anyway. Why would he, for someone else’s lie?

He is aching to the bone, but the currents are definitely growing stronger. The landers don’t seem to notice, and indoors, it is nearly impossible to tell, but Jongin wept in relief once he recognized them. The currents carry through the air as well, albeit much weaker. He just has to follow them.

He had been wandering for hours. At a snail’s pace, and exhaustion took him for a time, but progress is still progress. The sun is rising. The morning sky is magnificent. It fills him with hope that there is an end to this journey, and the end must be in sight. The sun does not rise with a slice of searing heat on the horizon. Rather, things just gradually become more real as the reddish gold clashes and swirls with every shade of blue of the night. What once were outlines become monochromatic shapes, then muted hues, which grow richer the more the sun feeds life into them, and into him. The air is damp and fresh, charged with potential.

This, at least, he has never experienced back home, in the water. Jongin breathes in deeply. Not a bad parting memory from this in-between world.

He was foolish. So foolish. But he can feel the water now. It pulls inside his bones, leading him home. His grandmother can fix this. They must have planned some kind of rescue, some kind of solution, and all that was left was for him to return.

The sun is fair, and will watch over him. He recites this over and over to himself as he walks toward it, a pilgrim seeking sanctuary and justice. The borrowed clothes chafe and weigh down on him more now, drenched in sweat, foreign and oppressive against his skin. He has been tempted to shed them, but that can wait. Soon. So soon.

His grandmother can fix this. The sun is fair and will protect him. He will go back home, and this will all be behind him. So soon.

Something high pitched and frequent pierces through the air with increasing volume. Jongin’s eyes widen in alarm and he tries to seek out the source, staggering back to find protection.

A grey creature is barreling toward him. It is small, but fierce, yipping as it circles him, eyes wild, teeth bared.

“Yah— _ Yah! _ ” shouts a man, fast approaching.

Once the fear releases him, Jongin looks up to find the crown prince jogging his way, another small creature trotting after him, nearly identical, except in a black coat.

“Hu _ chu! _ ” Kyungsoo huffs, scooping up the grey one effortlessly and giving it a reprehensive look. “Yah, what are you doing, you wild thing!”

Jongin loses his balance and topples to the ground. He hisses, curling his hand to his chest and brushing the twig and small pebbles off of his palm.

“...Jiwon?”

The smaller, black creature prances up to him. It comes to a halt, only silently leaning forward to sniff curiously.

“Here,” Kyungsoo grunts, dropping the grey one, and then helping Jongin, with some difficulty, to his feet. “Are you alright?”

He nods weakly.

“What— What are you doing out here?” Kyungsoo looks him over. “Where are your shoes?”

Jongin is tired. He must be hallucinating. Why else would the other prince be here, just as he is ready to return to his own world? His hand stings, and Jongin looks back down at it, down at the creatures circling their feet, then back to Kyungsoo.

Why now? Why here, when he is so near his return? Or is this just another trick? Just how powerful is this witch?

“Jiwon,” Kyungsoo repeats, concern in his eyes. “Are you alright? How long have you been out here?”

They stare at each other, Jongin, because what else can he do, but stare. How is the other prince expecting him to answer?

Kyungsoo breaks first, picking up the grey animal and making a tutting sound to signal the other one. He gives Jongin a stern look. “Come on then. Let’s get you back so a physician can examine you.”

He’s so close. He can feel the water, smell the salt. It’s right there. Somewhere. Summoning up whatever energy reserve is left, Jongin forces himself to pace eastward. He can hear the waves.

“Jiwon.”

One agonizing foot in front of the other. Kyungsoo catches up to him in moments, and Jongin can feel the low-grade annoyance radiating off of him at being ignored, but after falling in step, the other prince gently slings Jongin’s arm up and over his shoulder, easing his steps significantly.

“There,” Kyungsoo sighs, slowing them to a stop. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

Even with the other prince’s support, Jongin collapses to his knees. The ocean spreads out before him, glittering gold with the rising sun, taunting him with its calls as the waves crash onto shore. They are on a cliff, too high up, with jagged, deadly rocks underneath. The only path forward is certain death.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Kyungsoo remarks.

Walking all night, suffering, to nothing, for nothing. His chest heaves in silent sobs as he clutches his face, curling inward. A hand rests gingerly on his back before offering an awkward pat of comfort and retreating. Between his weak gasps, Jongin can hear the quiet snuffling of the little black and grey creatures circling them.

“You’re safe now,” he hears, and Jongin’s heart aches at the misinterpretation, the obliviousness. He shakes his head violently, fingers digging upward against his scalp, gripping into his hair, only to have them plucked away, one by one. Looking up in anger, he is met by Kyungsoo’s disapproving gaze.

The other prince has grass stains on his pale blue robe. Kyungsoo studies him as his hand retreats, falling onto one of the small animals and pensively stroking its fur.

After a long silence, Kyungsoo draws a corner of his lip in between his teeth and looks down at the black creature. “This is Meokmool,” he explains, his voice soft and low, as if he were speaking to a child. “She’s younger, but she’s much calmer.” He points at the grey one, who has finally settled on its side, pawing at the grass. “That one is Huchu. They’re called ‘poodles.’ They are a very rare breed of dog. Do you like dogs?”

Jongin eyes the two animals carefully as he wipes the mix of snot and tears away from his face.

The other prince continues, “They were given to me by an ambassador last year. I trained them myself. Huchu understands all of my commands, although at times, she is too energetic to listen. They’re both very good though.”

Jongin sniffles, listening patiently as his breathing steadies.

“You can pet them, if you’d like.”

Cautiously, he reaches forward, opting for the proclaimed calmer one. It sees him, and lifts its head at the last second, sniffing at his outstretched fingers, and licking them. He only flinches a little bit, continuing his slow and steady pursuit until he manages to touch the top of her head, right between her ears. The hair is soft, but coarse and wiry, curling against Jongin’s fingertips.

The other one — Huchu — crawls up and bumps right into its sister’s head, knocking her out of the way and replacing her head under Jongin’s hand.

He smiles and wipes at the remaining tears with his free hand as he tentatively pets the grey fur. It’s nice. Like otters, around the kelp forests that Moonkyu discovered a couple of years back.

Kyungsoo is smiling too as he strokes through the black one’s fur, watching Jongin interact with the larger dog. “See, they’re nice, right?”

Jongin nods, preoccupied with following the animal’s lead as it directs him to scratching behind its ears.

“Do you not have dogs where you’re from?”

He shakes his head as he tickles Huchu’s chin.

“Where is it that they don’t have any dogs? I heard they even form wild packs out in the countryside.”

Impulsively, Jongin turns back to the water. It looks completely different from up here. The waves are just moving lines, the sun illuminating more than blinding at this distance. It’s beautiful, even when it doesn’t look like home. He looks to Kyungsoo, then back at the ocean, raising a hand, and pointing outward.

Kyungsoo’s eyes follow before his brows furrow. “South of here?” He pauses, contemplating. “South of here …is the island country of Tamna. That would make sense. How would dogs get to an island? That’s so far though.”

Mentally, Jongin maps out what place the other prince could be describing. To the south, there are many islands, although he supposes one of the bigger ones that are actually populated with people would be the most logical choice. Tamna, the landers call it then. It must be where Taemin discovered the horses.

“Is that it? Are you from Tamna?” There is excitement bubbling in Kyungsoo’s voice. “They wear their hair braided like you there, I think. Is that why you don’t wear shoes? Is that normal on islands?”

He meant  _ down _ , not South, but how could he even convey that? Jongin sighs, looking back out at the water, at the jagged rocks. There is some residual ache, but it had receded. Misery lessens with company.

“That’s so far,” Kyungsoo repeats, awe in his voice. “You must have been on a ship, right?”

Jongin shakes his head minutely, going very still as the grey dog crawls into his lap and situates itself more comfortably before reminding him that it is still available for further petting.

“How could you have survived the journey all the way here?”

He doesn’t really remember. Jongin recalls choking,  _ drowning _ , on seawater, but it must have been too much change all at once to process. He remembers Moonkyu and Taemin swimming for— for his life, as fast as they could to the surface.

...That’s likely not the image that Kyungsoo must be picturing though. How did they even get to this point? What just happened?

“Your Highness!” shouts a familiar voice.

“Uh oh,” Kyungsoo says dryly as they both turn to watch Eunuch Baekhyun jogging toward them.

The eunuch is clearly surprised to see Jongin, eyes wide despite panting heavily to catch his breath. “Your Highness,” he gasps, hands on his knees as he doubles over. “I’ve found you.”

“The girls wanted to explore by the trees, and we discovered Jiwon out for a stroll,” Kyungsoo replies, nodding pointedly at Jongin, and then Huchu still contentedly in his lap.

“You are not allowed in the Eastern Palace!” reprimands Baekhyun, glaring at Jongin. “You’re not even supposed to—”

“He has been good company this morning,” Kyungsoo’s voice rises, almost imperceptibly. It shifts, going from casual to authoritative. “But it is getting too hot out. We shall return to wash and eat now.”

Baekhyun goes still, staring helplessly at the prince.

After a pause, Kyungsoo gives him an annoyed look. “...Shall I fetch my own gama?”

The question is enough to shock Baekhyun into action. He bows, instantly apologetic, and takes off, returning several minutes later with servants carrying a… large wooden box on a platform. They all bow as Baekhyun draws back a curtain and steps aside. Casting a mischievous look toward Jongin, Kyungsoo cants his head at the box and then walks up to it, loading his dogs in and ducking as he steps …right up into the platform. It is only after he has sat down that Jongin notices the bench inside.

“Do you wish to walk back on foot, Jiwon?” Kyungsoo asks as the eunuch lets the curtain fall. The other prince peeks out the side of the ornate fabric to await his answer.

_ “Your Highness,” _ Baekhyun hisses, dropping once again into a bow.

With some difficulty, Jongin folds himself alongside the Crown Prince in the small… he supposes it’s a transport system, then, not a box. There is room enough for the two of them—the four of them—and the windows and curtains keep it from feeling too stifling, but then the entire box is lifted into the air and the servants start to march, and Jongin almost dives out of the vehicle in panic from all the movement.

This amuses the Crown Prince greatly, although beyond some chuckles, he only drops Meokmool, the smaller, black dog, into Jongin’s lap in response, gathering Huchu onto his own.

“You know, you haven’t bowed to me once,” Kyungsoo remarks, looking out the window at the scenery.

Jongin turns to him, studying his features as the light reflects a soft brown off of Kyungsoo’s eyes. It hadn’t occurred to him to bow.

“It’s like it doesn’t even occur to you to bow,” the other prince continues, uncannily, his fingers playing with Huchu’s ears, folding them back only for her to shake them back into position. He swivels, catching Jongin in his gaze, brows knitting together. “All men must bow before someone. Even children bow. Even commoners bow.” He pauses. “Even kings bend before the gods.”

Jongin meets his inquisitorial look steadily. He feels suddenly nervous, as if Kyungsoo might discover something untoward about him. But that is such a foolish thought. He’s laid bare here on land, and the other prince can still only see what he knows. He’s still only a lander.

“Are you a prince?” Kyungsoo asks softly, letting the silence hang between them afterward as he carefully gauges Jongin’s reaction.

He wonders what his face looks like. Jongin is, of course, surprised at the guess, but more importantly, weighing his response. Would it seem suspicious to just confirm something so conveniently?

He inhales. He nods.

More silence from Kyungsoo. Then, barely above a whisper, “...I believe you.”

Jongin blink, finally blinks. Only now does he notice that Kyungsoo has gone completely still.

“I thought…” Kyungsoo wets his lips, nervously glancing down at the dog in his lap and petting down the wiry fur of her back before meeting Jongin’s eyes again, “I thought that my mother had sent the angel to rescue me.”

The angel. Him. Kyungsoo is referring to him.

“But,” the prince continues, “I had a vision.” He pauses, brows furrowing as his eyes glaze over, as if he were reliving the memory. “It was… It’s foggy, like a dream, but I know it. I think… I think I saw you in it. In a golden crown. Way before I found you on the shore.”

His eyes are pleading for Jongin to answer this mystery.

“I think—I  _ know _ —it was you. I  _ know…  _ my mother sent it. But maybe the angel wasn’t just sent to protect me. Maybe it saved me so that I could save you.”

A part of him wants to laugh. Why is that the explanation that Kyungsoo comes up with instead of the most simple path? Are the existence of seafolk truly that difficult to believe, over angels and premonitions? Yet another part of him is touched at the events’ interpretation. For someone who knows nothing of the world under the water, for someone whose people Jongin had always believed were savages, the Crown Prince is still continuing to surprise him.

Kyungsoo exhales, long and low. “I wish you could speak.”

Jongin gives him a weary look:  _ me too _ .

Just as he was getting used to the jostling, the litter comes to a stop, and they are lowered back to the ground. In his panic, Jongin seizes the other prince’s arm in one hand, the other huddled protectively around Meokmool, who does not even bother to wake up and appreciate the gesture.

Eunuch Baekhyun draws back the curtain to give him another scowl before bending and stepping back to allow them to exit, the dogs shuffling past them and being carried off by other attendants.

Unsure of what to do, Jongin limps along after Kyungsoo, who seems to be pacing himself deliberately slow. As the Crown Prince steps into a building, Baekhyun steps directly in front of Jongin and holds a hand out to block his path.

_ “This area is forbidden,” _ Baekhyun hisses under his breath. “...Like the rest of the palace.”

“Let him in,” Kyungsoo’s voice carries back to them, the prince still walking deeper into the room. “And summon the physician here.”

This time, the eunuch is much more reluctant to oblige, but after a myriad of emotions play out on his face, he gives Jongin one last warning look before dropping his hand, bowing minutely, and then walking briskly away to give the orders. He is back by the time Jongin finally makes it into the humid room, turning to glare at him as he passes.

There is a high tub in the center of the room. As Baekhyun circles it to stand beside Kyungsoo, the prince unceremoniously delivers his theory again. The abridged version, anyway.

“How can he be a prince?” Baekhyun counters in an instant.

Kyungsoo extends his arms, allowing the eunuch to fuss at his robes, untying thin strings. “Look at him,” he says. “He doesn’t have that civilian compulsion to avert his eyes or lower his gaze toward me.”

“Then he is disrespectful and ungrateful and I can have him beaten,” offers Baekhyun a little too cheerily.

“There’s no arrogance or challenge when he looks at me either,” Kyungsoo argues, his hair loosening from the tight knot and unraveling down to his waist. “He simply… regards me as me. It’s refreshing.”

“It’s impetuous.”

“Not if he’s also a prince.”

Baekhyun makes a disgruntled noise, “Even if he  _ is _ a prince—and I maintain that is a big ‘if’—he was rescued by you, and he is in your kingdom. There is such a thing as showing respect.”

The prince looks so small now, wearing only white pants that the eunuch is currently unfastening. Not nearly as intimidating outside of the elaborate robes and tight headpieces. He looks back at Jongin. “We cannot judge a stranger by our standards,” he says, after a thoughtful pause. “Maybe in his kingdom, it is not so formal.”

“ _ If _ he’s even a prince and not a swindler.”

Now nude, the prince gathers his hair into one fist and, with Baekhyun’s help, climbs and lowers himself into the tub of water, draping his long hair over the side. His eyes fall shut and he lets out a pleased sigh.

“Help him out of his clothes and get him new ones,” the Crown Prince orders quietly.

The eunuch sputters, aghast.

The other prince looks at Jongin again, an eyebrow cocked, “Do you wish to bathe, or are you content being caked in sweat and dirt and whatever else?”

Jongin looks back and forth between them. This is the first time Kyungsoo has talked  _ to him _ since they left the cart. He looks down at the water, back to the prince, and nods.

“Your Highness, this is not—”

“It’s not what? Proper? Everyone bathes together in the temple, I have a busy schedule today, and I am not done speaking with him.”

Baekhyun gives an exasperated sigh before ducking his head. He chooses his words carefully, pragmatically, “Your Highness, we know nothing of him. He could mean you harm.”

Kyungsoo is amused, overtly so. “It is a bath. Do you  _ see  _ a weapon on him?”

Jongin can almost see the fumes coming from the eunuch’s ears, but after another pause, Baekhyun reluctantly storms toward him and helps him out of his clothes, bowing and announcing loudly that he will be right back to tend to Kyungsoo’s hair.

“I’ll have to tell the king about you,” Kyungsoo muses to himself, watching Jongin fumble as he awkwardly tries to climb into the water.

It is warm, almost uncomfortably borderline hot. Jongin plants himself at the opposite end of the tub so he can face the other prince properly. He had watched Kyungsoo undress before, on the ship. Outside of his big garments and multiple layers, he looks much smaller, much younger. Here, Jongin can compare more, like how despite being so much nearer to the sun, his skin still manages to be so pale, even paler than this muted gold the witch had imparted upon him. His hair is darker than Jongin’s, however. Denser. Small differences here and there.

“My mother once said, ‘If the fate of royalty ever falls onto your hands, you will either be rewarded or you must pay a price, and you are not the arbiter of that outcome.’” Kyungsoo had leaned back on the edge of the tub, to look up at the ceiling, but turns to Jongin and gives him a small smile. “But you are responsible nonetheless.”

If only that lander queen had given Jongin such a wise warning a few days earlier. Although a few days earlier, Jongin might not have heeded. Right now, he is not certain he would heed it. What were his options, to just watch Kyungsoo die?

"What was life like as an island prince? Is it easier?"

Not an island, the entire ocean. The one that surrounds this small peninsula. But even then, his life was… great. He did, for the most part, whatever he pleased, within reason. He knows he was indulged way more than his sisters, since he was the youngest and just a boy. No future ruler to train, no pressure beyond preparing for marriage and proper court etiquette.

It seems so far away now, and in retrospect, so… childish. Shallow.

“We can send a messenger to Tamna to let them know you are safe,” the prince offers. “Or if you remember what happened, if it was… something other than an accident…” He reads something in Jongin’s face and his eyes soften. “Don’t be afraid, Jiwon. They won’t be able to hurt you here.”

It is a misread, but Jongin feels overwhelmed at the gesture regardless. He is still so fatigued from his attempt to return home, from his failure, from all the helplessness and frustration. It had been days since they last met, and Jongin had assumed he had simply disappeared from the other prince’s mind, and likely he had, but… here is Kyungsoo, unwittingly comforting the wrong notions, but with the right intentions. It feels strange to find comfort and solace, but it fills him regardless.

“Do you- Do you  _ want  _ to go home?”

He does, but there is no messenger to send. There is no going home. His heart aches, and Jongin’s hand touches his chest where the pulse is strongest. He sighs, and then nods.

Kyungsoo wades in place, creating small ripples with his fingers. “I became a prince four years ago—”

‘Became’? The sentence is so jarring, leaving Jongin reeling at just how someone  _ becomes _ a prince, that he nearly misses the rest of Kyungsoo’s sentence.

“It’s not something I wanted. If I had an older brother, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad,” Kyungsoo continues. “But I am my father’s only son. For now, anyway. And if that changes, then… well, that might not be a positive outcome for me either.”

He is speaking to Jongin as if they are confidants, as if Jongin is in on a secret. Jongin listens with rapt attention, eager for more, possibly desperate for more. He had been on land for days without seeing the prince, and then days after that, treated as nothing more than a stranger, and yet now, for whatever reason.

“You’re not the crown prince where you’re from, are you?”

Subconsciously, Jongin laughs. It only comes out as a puff of air, but his lips curl up anyway at the thought of a crown prince in the queendom. His eyes flicker back to Kyungsoo and he shakes his head. Of course not. That’s a lander invention.

“Is it very different, then? Do you just have to study? Do you still get to have a mother and father?”

Whatever worlds of differences lie between them, Jongin still admires how readily the other prince can read the emotions off of his face at least. He is confused, and Kyungsoo picks up on it instantly.

“My father is the king. He is father to the entire country now.” Kyungsoo’s eyes cloud over, and he looks away, down to the water. He breathes out, hard enough to ripple the water, amusing himself with the effect. “My mother is gone. I-...”

Eventually, the other prince looks at Jongin, who offers a sympathetic look and brings his hand back to his chest, nodding. He supposes he should have parsed that out, that all the mentions of Kyungsoo’s mother were in the past. She is mentioned in such a wistful, longing way in contrast to his father. That, Jongin cannot understand, since his father has always tended to him, but perhaps they are more similar than he previously thought.

The thought of his own mother brings the witch back to the forefront of his mind. She knew Jongin’s mother. She claims she had loved Jongin’s mother, and that this was somehow punishment.

Kyungsoo’s mouth lifts at the corner, and he chuckles, humorlessly. “The lives of queens and princes…” He says it as if it is some great joke, but Jongin does not get the reference. “It’s a strange balancing act. Do you know what I mean? I have servants and scholars and guards here. They serve and protect me, but I must serve and protect them too.”

Is this what Jongin’s sisters go through? Surely, not with this melancholy, almost remorseful.

“I didn’t ask for… any of this,” Kyungsoo sounds nearly petulant, almost childish, as if he were whining. He searches Jongin’s face again, seeking… answers or comfort, and then turns away, his eyes growing distant again, voice heavy. “My teachers say that is the weight of the crown. The honor of serving. It is not even on me yet though, but I still have to carry it.”

_ It’s unfair _ , he hears in the undercurrent. It is a lonely position of privilege, from how it sounds. Minji never seemed lonely to him, but Jongin also knows that his eldest sister keeps her court matters and duties separate from their family activities. He has never heard her complain beyond vague grumblings of how long the day had been.

“Although it would be much more convenient if you could  _ actually _ speak,” Kyungsoo says, expressions softening as he turns back to Jongin, “I think when I look at you, you speak more sincerely than anyone else here.” He sounds, once again, deeply amused, and nodding to himself. “I like talking to you. You look at me like I’m still a person.” At Jongin’s raised brows, the other prince lets out an actual laugh, just a short chortle, but his mouth curves upward beautifully and he gives Jongin another wry look. “No one looks at me and thinks they want to be my friend, Jiwon. They see a Crown Prince and they fear me, or they see proximity to the throne, and they want access and opportunity.”

With some difficulty, Jongin stands. The water is difficult to stomp through, but he crosses it and comes to a stop before the other prince. His impulsiveness continues as he reaches and circles Kyungsoo’s wrist, bringing it to his chest and flattening Kyungsoo’s palm over his heart. Registering the shock on Kyungsoo’s face, Jongin pours as much emotion into his own as he can summon, silently nodding.

Kyungsoo recoils, still a mask of surprise, but regards him quietly, his hand still on Jongin’s skin. “...Are you offering to be my friend?”

Jongin slowly, gently, covers Kyungsoo’s hand with his and nods again.

Kyungsoo chuckles, and his eyes drop away before his hand does. The loss of contact is so abrupt, Jongin fears the prince has turned to anger, but Kyungsoo smiles as he looks upon him again. “I’ll be your friend too.”

—

Baduk is a lander game played with pieces of black slate and white shells on an intricate board carved from a tree trunk. It is beautiful and fascinating, but Jongin appreciates the aesthetics of the game much more than the game itself.

He is not very good at it, and the other prince teases him mercilessly every match.

Crown Princes are very busy people, however. Jongin goes days at a time without seeing him, and the few moments they spend together are often much briefer than he prefers. So if Baduk is what Kyungsoo wants to play, then Baduk is what Jongin will practice.

Less often, although much more preferably, Kyungsoo will summon for him early in the morning and cart them out to the cliff past the East Palace so his dogs can frolic. He cannot move as readily, but the other prince does not seem to mind.

The court physician had diagnosed that Jongin must have been poisoned, and has something blocked. He must regularly drink some foul, murky concoction in hopes of magically restoring… whatever imbalance it was. One drink was plenty. Jongin has been watering the cherry blossom outside of his room ever since.

The king is a joyless man who does not care much for Jongin, which suits him just fine. He does not care much for this king either. The court here is full of loud, old men who regard him with suspicion and protest relentlessly when Kyungsoo said that Jongin is to stay at the East Palace as opposed to the guest housing in the outer court due to his physical limitations. There was not much fighting on the issue. The prince declared Jongin’s boarding, the court argued, and the prince thanked them for their words before issuing his orders anyway and departing.

Lander court is strange. Lander  _ everything _ is strange.

The prince’s eunuch has finally warmed up to him. Baekhyun woke him up early this morning to show off the new robes he had made for today’s celebration. They were quite lovely, and fit much more comfortably. Whatever the reason for the change of heart, Baekhyun does make sure to dote on Jongin regularly, perhaps to make up for the other prince’s frequent absences.

Today is the queen’s birthday celebration. Landers, at the very least, land royalty, remarry after losing their spouses. Kyungsoo has not told him much about the new queen, other than she is younger than the Crown Prince and rather timid. Jongin is purposefully kept away from her. Baekhyun had not-so-patiently explained that  _ no _ men were allowed near the queen’s residence, the only exceptions being her family, eunuchs, and the King himself. So many rules.

The weather is nice today. There is a light breeze, and being outdoors, he can feel the currents in the air. The palace is bustling with people. He is led to a large courtyard where a stage has been erected, banners and decorations hung. Reaching the royal family, Jongin bows before the king, the young queen, and then Kyungsoo, who shoots him a knowing smirk before tilting his head several degrees. They do not bother with ceremony at any other time. Baekhyun had to refresh him just this morning on etiquette and expectations.

The Crown Prince is also in new robes, albeit in the same dark color palette that he must either prefer or is mandatory for his position. His hair is glossy and wound up so tight under that hat, it looks painful. But he looks very handsome. How is it that the shape of his eyes are so clearly defined and sharp and precise and his brows directly above are a wild area of reckless abandon? A field of chaos. Jongin feels the strongest compulsion to walk up and smooth them back into some sort of orderly manner. They bother him so much that his fingers itch in their presence. 

Instead, he is led to his seat, off to the side. From here, he quickly grows bored as he watches the party progress. A lot of greetings, a lot of gifts presented, and a lot of too-polite, too-strained smiles. Soon, the lines wane away, and people in bright costumes approach the stage. They are carrying instruments. Jongin recognizes some from paintings. They set up in one corner, and then a row of women march onto the stage. They are dressed similarly, in airy, soft pastels and delicate headpieces. Everyone bows and offers the queen auspicious wishes, and then walk backward, assembling themselves into a formation.

Music starts, and Jongin’s body strums along with the very first string, shocking him so much his jaw drops. The other instruments join in, and the women start to move. They are dancing, he realizes, and not only that, but they are dancing into the currents. The music is strengthening the currents, and they move through Jongin and he feels tears well up in his eyes, burning them. If he closes his eyes, it almost feels as if he were back home. He can sense the dancers, the electricity, the life within their bodies, charging the air, the currents, as the music swells and crests around them. How is everyone else not enraptured right now?

The dancers spread out, swirling their silks in graceful loops, and the music grows louder, fills his chest. They dance down between the rows of the audience, the woman approaching his corridor making eye contact and smiling demurely at each guest, at him. It fills and fills him, and Jongin is on his feet, feeling so lightweight for the first time in weeks, as if the currents are powerful enough now that they can just sweep him away, back to the safety of the water, to his home and family. He offers no resistance to the waves, letting them carry him blindly, trusting them fully.

The music fades, and the waves with it. It feels as if he has just lost something, and with heavy reluctance, Jongin forces his eyes to open, his feet to surrender back to gravity.

People are staring at him. The dancers are staring at him. He turns a quarter, to find Kyungsoo, to see his bright, wide eyes focused entirely on Jongin, his lips parted in… shock?

Only now does he realize that apart from the dancers, he is the only one on his feet. It is impossible that none of them felt the currents too.

A lone clap rings through the courtyard. Kyungsoo claps, slowly, but steadily, and soon the rest of the audience joins in. The dancers all bow as Jongin hurries back to his seat, flinching and limping with each step. He did not feel the pain earlier. Or if he did, he was so overwhelmed that it did not register.

Kyungsoo catches his eye and mimes more applause. He smiles, all teeth showing, and continues staring at Jongin until the king stands up to make a speech. Only until the very last moment does he glance away, as if Jongin is some fascinating new discovery and not someone who has been here for weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> I was scrolling through Twitter one day, and [@m_yomi95](https://twitter.com/m_yomi95) totally blew me away with [this beautiful artwork](https://twitter.com/m_yomi95/status/1030504363150790658). My mouse stopped working, the world stopped spinning, and I saw one lover giving up hope while the other helplessly held on. I saw the Little Mermaid, the original fairy tale version by Hans Christian Andersen. The summary can be found [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Little_Mermaid). I saw the entire story play out, and I knew I had to write it. I'd been steadily collecting little notes and thoughts and bits of it for half a year, shelving it constantly, because it ached my heart to think about it. I almost attempted it for Kadi Days, but soon realized that I was totally not ready to handle that at the time. I wanted to name this Entwined Hearts as well, since it just FIT so perfectly, but ultimately, decided that Oasis wouldn't leave my mind otherwise. So here is my V-day present to you all. Thank you to A for all of your help and hand-holding. I hope you all enjoy this fic. It means a lot to me. <3


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